Cartman Rising
by Marcus Absent
Summary: The second of my South Park "character stories." Eric Cartman isn't content to live a life of mediocrity. No, he has big plans for the future. But what will those plans cost, and will anyone escape? Rated T for language, sexuality, and Cartman. COMPLETE
1. Rebirth

**Welcome to my next fanfic, everyone.**

**I want to begin with a disclaimer; this story is in no way connected with (and isn't even in the same continuity as) my previous South Park story,_ My Name is Kenny_. In fact, there may even be a completely different explanation of Kenny's deaths to fit with this story. Simply put, this is a Cartman story in the same way that the other one is a Kenny story; it is _the_ story of Eric Cartman, told through his eyes. And let me tell you, writing from Cartman's POV is _way_ harder than Kenny's, so I apologize for any drop in quality.**

**Finally, I have to officially say that South Park is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker, and it does not belong to me at all. I make no profit from these stories, except for satisfaction from my fans :D**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>There I was…standing on the threshold of a great future. A young man, with his whole life ahead of him. And what a life it promised to be…<p>

I am Eric Theodore Cartman. Perhaps you've heard of me? Nonsense, of course you know who I am. As for who you are…chances are, the only people who will ever read this are either myself or someone who wishes to follow in my footsteps. An apprentice, if you will. I may choose to publish this someday, in which case my true story will be known to all, but until then, I will assume that anyone reading this wants to learn from what I have done, and to perhaps achieve their own greatness.

This is the story of how it all began. The day I started on the road to power.

* * *

><p>My alarm clock rang at 6:30, interrupting my sleep and the long string of gruesome images that always accompanied it. I sat up in bed, still groggy, and then I remembered what day it was. The excitement was all I needed to get me moving.<p>

I rushed downstairs. Mom, of course, had breakfast waiting for me.

"Oh, good morning, my little angel," she smiled sweetly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, Mom," I managed, while gulping down my chocolate pancakes. "Do you have my lunch packed? I'm not going to eat the shitty cafeteria food this year."

"Of course, honey," she replied. "You sure seem excited for school to start."

The first day of senior year. "I am, Mom. Big plans."

Ordinarily, I wouldn't be thrilled at the idea of going back to school. I'm pretty sure everyone at school still hates me. Most of them have hated me ever since fourth grade, but even my so-called "close friends" had barely spoken to me in years. In short, I'd just finished probably the absolute worst summer I've ever had. No fun at all.

But all that was about to change. This year was going to be different. This year was the year I would set everything into motion. I knew for a fact that no one had any big plans for after graduation, except for Wendy and the Jew, Kyle Broflovski. And me. But my plans, though elaborate in design, were quite simple in intention: I was going to prove everyone wrong. They thought that I was going to grow up to be a miserable, lonely person, and I was going to show them that the world was my footstool.

She went back into the kitchen and came back with my Terrence and Phillip lunchbox. Stuffed with my favorite food, no doubt.

Or was it?

I made a quick check. "Mom, there are regular Oreos in here! Don't we have Double Stuff?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, poopsiekins," she said, "but you ate the last of the Double Stuffs yesterday."

I was not pleased with this, but at the moment, I was in such a good mood that I didn't even feel like pitching a fit. "Alright, I guess the crappy Oreos can stay, but make sure to buy some more Double Stuffs this afternoon."

"Whatever you say," Mom said. Then she went back to make her own breakfast.

I wolfed down the last of my pancakes. "See you later, Mom."

I hopped into my pickup truck, and drove to Kenny McCormick's shack—I mean, house. He walked up. Out of my once so-called "close friends," Kenny was the only one who still hung out with me at all.

"Hey, Cartman," he said, his voiced muffled by his thick orange parka. "Did you get your summer reading done? Word is that we're going to get tested on _The Sound and the Fury_ today."

"Yeah, I'm totally going to ace that shit," I said. Okay, so I hadn't done the reading (have you ever read that book? It's confusing as hell), but I had read the spark notes. Close enough. "Still, having a test on the first day of school is such bullcrap."

"You said it," Kenny chuckled.

"I'll bet that Stan and Kyle were both good boys and actually read the book," I said. "They're so lame!"

Kenny cocked an eye at me from under his hood. "_I_ read the book too, fatass."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I did."

"When did you have time to read that piece of shit? I thought you had to spend all your time begging to support your family."

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "I would punch you in the face, only you're driving right now, and I don't really feel like dying this morning."

I chuckled.

God, when did Kenny become such a puss? He used to not care about getting in trouble. He used to live life to the fullest. I remember when the two of us almost took over the U.S. with just a bunch of drunk Civil War reenacters. But now? He's just another cog in the machine. I guess not hanging out with me has taken its toll on him. He needs my help.

We pulled up in front of Stan Marsh's house. Usually I only picked up Kenny, but Mom had told me last week that Stan's car had just been wrecked on a joyride (when I found out the joyrider had been his dad, I laughed my ass off for nearly an hour straight). So, I had to drive Stan to school. And since the Jew usually rode with him, I had to bring him, too. Oh, well: filthier people had ridden in this car (meaning Kenny).

Stan and the Jew came out the front door. Stan looked a little annoyed at the idea of riding with me, but the Jew? He took one look at me, and considered walking to school. He definitely thought about it; I could see it on his twisted face. Go on, Kyle. I dare you to walk to school. That would just make my day. Finally, he capitulated, and walked up to the car with Stan. Even better. Forcing the Jew to do what I want, especially if it's what he doesn't want, gives me a high. I love it.

"Okay, Kenny," I said, "you're gonna have to hop in the back."

"What?" Kenny frowned. "Why?"

"Because there's not room in the front for all four of us, you asshole!" I explained. "Now, hurry up!"

Kenny got out and climbed into the bed of the truck, but not before pausing to punch me in the nose.

Motherfucker. I guess he did warn me, though. I managed to keep my irritation contained; damn, I must be in a _really_ good mood today.

Kenny sat down in the bed, pouting. It's alright; he's poor. Which means he has almost as much experience riding in the back of a truck as a Mexican, so he would be the most likely to survive in case of an accident. And even if he didn't, poor people are expendable. No offense to Kenny.

Stan and the Jew needed to sit in the front, since they didn't have this experience. And I needed them alive, especially Kyle. Furthermore, I needed Kyle where I could keep an eye on him.

"Hey, Cartman," Stan said, awkwardly trying to make conversation. "What happened to your face?"

Ha ha. "The asshole in orange," I said, pointing back at Kenny.

The Jew didn't even bother. He looked determined to ignore me. Well, we couldn't have that. "So, Kyle, how was your summer?"

No response. Not even a rude comment about my weight. "You know, Kyle, we're all gonna be riding together until Stan's car gets fixed, so we might as well at least talk to each other," I said. "You know, reconnect?"

"And wouldn't you just enjoy that?" Kyle said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're just loving having us around, since we all know you don't have any real friends."

Ouch. That was a low, even for him.

"In fact, I bet you even found a way to cause the wreck, so we would all have to ride together, because that's just the way your evil little brain works."

I didn't, of course. Not that it wouldn't have been a good idea, but the wreck simply happened at the right place and at the right time. It was an omen of success.

"Can't you accept a little friendship? You're so distrustful, Kyle," I pointed out.

Kyle finally looked right at me with his beady little eyes. "I have to be: I know you," he said. Then he turned away, with obviously no intention of saying another word to me.

Well, you don't know me well enough, you Jewish rat. Not _nearly_ well enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time...Invitation<strong>


	2. Invitation

Mr. Garrison handed out our tests, all the while ranting on and on about his new boyfriend, and how he wasn't sensitive enough, and blah blah blah. Please...if there's one thing we care about less than a book about a retard, a psycho, and the only person able to control the rest of the family, it's about Garrison's gay problems.

I finished my test in no time, and got out the stack of flyers I had brought to school. I checked over them to make sure they had all the information on them.

_Don't miss the opportunity of a lifetime!_

_Join Cartman's Brotherhood, a brand new corporation dedicated to victory and success!_

_First meeting today at 4:00, at the Cartman residence._

Looks good. I slipped Stan, Kyle, and Kenny each a flyer. They're still too busy on their tests to acknowledge it, but they'll come; they don't really have a choice. They knew that I always had the best ideas. And Kyle, especially, can't resist good ideas. He'll leech onto anything that benefits him, especially if it involves money that he can hoard.

* * *

><p>English class let out, and I started wandering around the school, looking for all my old buddies from elementary school so I could make sure they knew about the meeting.<p>

I spotted Craig Tucker smoking in the bathroom. He'd gotten a lot taller over the summer, and he was still extremely thin. He was almost pale enough to be a Goth kid, but I knew better. Goths loved being miserable, because it made them feel better about themselves. "No one understands my pain," and all that.

But Craig…he just doesn't give a shit about anything. He's probably the only guy I know who doesn't even bat an eye if you insult his mom. True to form, he barely even acknowledged me as I walked in.

"Hey, there's a meeting going on at my house after school. You need to be there."

He stared at me. "Why?"

"Because it's important."

"But I hate you."

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he looked at it like it was a snake. "Craig, we shouldn't let a thing like hate get in the way of fame and power. I hate Kyle, but I still invited him."

He considered that, and then finally said, "Whatever," and snatched the flyer out of my hand.

* * *

><p>As the school day went on, I continued to hand out my flyers. I don't think I heard a word any of the teachers said. But then again, I didn't need to; I had bigger goals in mind.<p>

I found the crippled kids, Timmy Birch and Jimmy Valmer, in drama class. They were looking over lines for a play or something.

Jimmy started out. "T-to b-be or n-n-not to b-b-buh-b-b-beeeeh, to be, that is the que, the question, ww-w-whether 'tis nobler—"

"TIMMEH! Timmeh timmeh, livin' a lah, timmehhh!"

Hehehe, retards. But even retards deserve a chance at success, so I walked up to them and handed them each a flyer.

"Oh, hi Eric," Jimmy stuttered. "W-what did you think?"

"About what?"

"Our s-solil-loquies. Timmy's going to m-make a f-fan-fantastic Macbeth, wouldn't you s-say?"

"Oh, yeah. Nobody can put on a play like you guys," I snickered. Timmy gave a little spastic half-bow.

"Well, anyway, there's a meeting going on at my house later. I hope you guys can make it."

"Oh, s-sure, Eric. Wouldn't m-miss it."

'Timmeh," Timmy agreed.

I was about to leave when Tweek Tweak stepped into the room. He looked out of breath and really nervous. More nervous than he usually looked, that is. The guy was a caffeine time bomb. He probably bled coffee, and I can only imagine what horrors that wreaked on his metabolism.

"Oh Jesus! Ahh! No, no, I can't do it! I can't do drama class!" He turned to run back out. I guess he had spent all this time debating whether to go to class or not.

"Whoa, calm down, Tweek. Drama class isn't so bad. Look, even Jimmy and Timmy are making the most of it," I said. I pointed him towards Jimmy, who was now practicing a speech from _Othello_. Retard: everyone knows that Token had to play Othello.

"Well, I guess it won't be too bad, then," Tweek twitched.

"By the way," I said, handing him a flyer, "stop by my house later today. I'm getting all the guys together for a meeting."

"Oh, no way, man! Going to one of your meetings is WAY too much pressure! We'll get into all sorts of trouble!"

"Relax, Tweek," I said. "I just want you to listen to what I have to say, and if it's too much pressure, than you can just leave."

Tweek thought about it, taking a few sips of coffee from his thermos. "Well, I guess so. Gah!"

* * *

><p>Ok, that's Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Craig, Jimmy, Timmy, and Tweek. That leaves—<p>

"Hey, Eric," came a pleasant southern voice from behind me. I turned around and saw, as expected, Butters.

Leopold "Butters" Stotch was an interesting guy to have around. What's so good about him is that he's very moldable. Put him next to someone kind and understanding, and he's a great, caring guy to be around. Put him next to someone with more ambition and determination (like me), and he follows so closely that he is a force to be reckoned with. And he absolutely adores me; he'd probably run around the school naked and let Mr. Garrison molest him if I told him to (not that I would, as funny as that might be).

Unfortunately, there is a catch. He's a parasite; his adoration of me demands that he follow me around wherever I go. I mean, it's nice to have someone who praises me all the time, but…he's not very bright, and sometimes I need to rely on followers with a little more brains.

Overall, though, he's a good guy to have nearby. He's loyal, and that's what's important. Besides, he's one of the few people that is _necessary_ for the plan.

"Hey, Butters," I said. "You have a good summer?"

"Oh, yeah, it was neat-o!" Butters bubbled. "Stan and Kyle were really nice; they actually helped me pay for our beach trip." Then he looked at his feet and rubbed his knuckles together. "When we got back my parents grounded me."

So Butters had become my replacement in Kyle's little kingdom, eh?

"Aw, that's too bad, Butters. I'm sorry you had to go and see Stan and Kyle groping over each other and making out on the beach. I probably would have puked."

"Well, it wasn't that ba—" He suddenly paled. "Wait, you mean…they're _gay_?"

God, if I told Butters that the dictionary had his picture next to the entry for "gullible," the guy would actually look it up to check it anyway.

"No, Butters, they're not actually gay. They're just as close as two heterosexual boys can get." Granted, I could certainly see how some people could look at Stan and Kyle and think they were gay. But I know them, and they're definitely just best friends. Besides, Stan has Wendy, so he's definitely straight.

Kyle, though, has never had a girlfriend, and some people think he's gay because of that. The truth is, he has no room in his heart for love. It's all black and full of greed.

"Ohhh…" Butters murmured.

"Now, Butters, I want you to come by my place after school. I'm having a meeting there, and I need you there so we can talk."

"Huh? Talk about what?" Butters asked.

"The future," I said, with a flourish. And with that, I left him standing in the hallway.

Butters just gaped. "Wow…" he finally moaned in awe.

* * *

><p>"Why would I want to go to your meeting?" Clyde Donovan asked.<p>

"Because I'm cool," I explained. "And hanging around me is guaranteed to make you more popular. Bebe will love you even more."

Clyde frowned. He did like being popular.

"Well, alright."

* * *

><p>"All I'm want is one little meeting," I pleaded. "Surely, that isn't too much to ask?"<p>

Kevin Stoley twirled his lightsaber key chain fob, weighing the choice between listening to one of my awesome plans, and continuing his Star Wars marathon after school.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "But it had better be good."

* * *

><p>Token Black shook his head. "No, I'm not going to go to your little meeting. Why should I?"<p>

"We need you there, Token," I said. "As you may have noticed, everyone else who I've invited to the meeting is white. If you don't come too, we'll all look like a bunch of racists."

Token's eyes narrowed. "But…you ARE racist. Why should I help you?"

"Because all of your friends will be there, including Craig, Tweek, and Clyde. You don't want them to look racist, do you?"

Token was clearly caught. "Ok, fine. But I don't want to hear any of your snide remarks."

I smiled. "Of course not, Token. Now here; have some watermelon."

* * *

><p>And now for the last person on the list. I stared at her down the hall, as she talked to her boyfriend outside her locker. Wendy Testaburger: the girl I had loved since I was in elementary school.<p>

She once killed our substitute teacher, Ms. Ellen, because she thought that Ms. Ellen was trying to steal Stan away from her. Almost nobody knew she had done it (Kyle did some snooping around afterwards and found out), but I knew it was her the minute those Arabs rushed into the classroom. It was exactly what I would have done in that situation, and I admired her for it. Sure, her method lacked a little originality, but it was quite ingenious, nonetheless.

One time during a debate, she kissed me in front of the whole town (you should have seen the look on Stan's face). In that moment, I realized why she was so attracted to me: we were exactly the same. Like me, she was smart, cunning, and ruthless. Not only that, but she knew that I was, too. And she wasn't afraid of that.

In truth, Wendy's only flaw was that she cared too much what other people thought. She tried to hide her true feelings under controlled positions of authority and feigned care for the environment. But I knew what she yearned for. She longed to rule the world…and I would be at her side. That's why she needed me: to help her realize that she didn't have to hide who she was.

But I had to ease into it. The last few times I had tried to help her come out of her shell, she had always fought back with denial; she didn't want to admit to her powerful nature. I wouldn't get another chance; I couldn't fuck it up this time.

Stan walked off, and I made my move. "Wendy?"

She turned and looked at me with her beautiful eyes. She frowned. "What do you want?" I sighed; if only she could admit that she loved me, we could both be happy . Instead, I was pining for her, and she was stuck with Stan the pussy.

"I just wanted to invite you to a get-together at my house after school."

She looked at me even more suspiciously. "What do you want?" she asked again. Damn, she was good.

I sighed. "Wendy, we've got one year of high school left. After graduation, we may not see each other again. I…just wanted to make sure we remain on good terms."

Wendy got up in my face. "Cartman, we are NOT on good terms!"

Damn, I have to not be so obvious. "Ho, it's not like I'm trying to change our relationship." Now, let the word "relationship" hang in the air for a moment for subliminal effect. "I just want to make sure things don't get worse between us."

At that, she smirked. "I don't think you need to worry about that."

Ah, a joke. Now she's casually flirting. "Well," I continued, "then I guess I don't have anything to lose." I winked, just for good measure.

She laughed at that for a moment, and then caught herself. "Well, I've already made plans with Stan today, so—"

"That's okay. He should be coming, too."

"Oh." Wendy paused. "Well, maybe." Then she walked off, shaking her head as her emotions viciously fought each other.

"Cartman!" A voice called out from behind me. It was the Jew, with his sidekicks Pussy and Poor Boy. "What's this I hear about a meeting?" It apparently took them all day to track me down, even though they were the first people I gave flyers to. Stan must have glimpsed Wendy walking away from me, because he looked a little suspicious. But it's no big deal; he and Kyle are always suspicious of me. He's too dim to figure out what's really going on.

"I've called a meeting of all our old friends, so I can tell them my big plans. We're all going to be rich and powerful, Kyle. I guarantee it." On an inspiration, I added, "Oh, and bring your little brother along; he might want to hear what I have to say."

Kyle scoffed and walked off, followed by Stan. Kenny waited a little bit longer, then jogged off after them.

They would come. They wouldn't be able to resist.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time...Enemy<strong>


	3. Enemy

4:01 p.m.

I walked down into my basement. I had told my mom to send everyone down there, so they should all be gathered there already.

Sure enough, there they all were. Craig and Kenny both had their feet propped up on the table. Tweek was fidgeting in his chair. Jimmy leaned on his crutches, while Timmy sat in his wheelchair, staring off into space. Stan and Wendy were sitting in adjacent chairs, holding hands. Kevin had his eyes glued on the Nintendo DS in his hands. Clyde looked bored, and was struggling to keep his eyes open, while Butters looked forward, eager to learn. Kyle's 13-year-old adopted brother, Ike Broflovski, seemed nervous, and I guess that was understandable; everyone in the room was at least four years older than him. Speaking of Kyle, he and Token were at the far end of the table, staring at me, and letting me know in no uncertain terms that their time here was time better spent somewhere else.

"Well, everyone, thank you for coming. I promise that I will make it worth your while," I began. Kyle looked doubtful, but said nothing.

"Here we are: Senior year (except for Ike, of course). Our last year together. We've all grown up together, and seen the world, and in less than a year, we will have all gone our separate ways. Kind of makes you sad, doesn't it?"

"No," Craig interjected with his nasally voice. A fair number of people glared at him, so I knew that at least some of them wanted to hear what I had to say.

"My friends, I think that it is a shame that we must part," I continued. "College is no place for us. College is for people who want to have blue collar jobs, and boring lives. Those people are just cogs in the machine. But we, my friends, we can rise above it."

I looked at my audience. Some of them looked interested, and some of them just looked bored. But my eyes were fixed on Kyle. I needed to get him to speak, and I haven't pushed him far enough yet.

"I mean, look at us; we've saved the _world_! We saved it from Trapper Keeper. We've saved it from Saddam Hussein. We've saved it from New Jersey (no thanks to Kyle). We've saved the world from Cthulhu. We've saved it from—"

"Actually, Cartman," Kyle interrupted, "_we_ saved the world from Cthulhu. _You_ were trying to help Cthulhu destroy the world, and you killed lots of Jews and hippies and Justin Bieber along the way."

"Like anybody gives a crap about Justin Beiber," I spat. That's right, Kyle. You can't let me win, so you'll point out anything you can to discredit me. "But that's not important. The important thing is…they _owe_ us. They owe us the world, and why? Because we've saved it for them, time and again.

"But will they let us have it? No, and why? I'll tell you why: because of Jewish greed." Kyle's eyes narrowed; he was going to blow soon. I went on. "The Jews in high places won't let us have what's rightfully ours, because then they'd lose all their money. The Jews control the colleges; we pay them ridiculous amounts of money for them to hand us a piece of paper and tell us to start working from the bottom up. And if we prove our way to the top by any other means, they just—"

"Oh, SHUT UP, FATASS!" Kyle finally yelled. He stood up and stared at me in disgust, too angry to let me continue uninterrupted.

I kept calm. After all, I had expected this. "Is something the matter, Kyle?"

"Yes, there is!" the Jew spluttered. "I didn't come here to listen to you spew a bunch of hate speech towards my people!"

"Well, then why did you come here, Kyle? Was it to let me know you weren't like the other Jews, and that you also wanted what was rightfully ours? Or was it because you knew I had discovered your people's secret, and were determined to prevent me from revealing it at any cost?"

"No!" he shouted. "Everything you've said is completely untrue!"

I turned to the rest of the gang. "See? He continues to deny it, but the facts are in front of all of you. We pay them to go to college, and we get hardly anything to show for it. And the worst part of it is…he'll get a good job, because he's a Jew, and Jews all believe in favoritism."

"No, fatass, I'll get the best job, because I'm smarter than you," Kyle said.

"Nuh uh," I said. "Remember all those times I got you all out of trouble?"

"Half of the time it was you that got us into trouble in the first place," said Kyle. Stan and a few others nodded in agreement. He was gaining support. I had to throw in all my chips.

"Is it right that the Jews are on top and getting all the benefits? No. In fact, it's contrary to the spirit of capitalism and freedom. People who work their way to the top have earned the right to be there. But the Jews just hoard all the money and cheat their way up. What worse, because of them, we've been denied our rightful due."

Kyle finally exploded. "You know what? Fuck it! I don't care! You go on with your delusional ranting, but I'm out!" He stood up, and tugged at his brother's arm. "Come on, Ike, we're leaving."

Ike didn't move. Kyle blankly stared at his Canadian sibling, and for a moment, I was worried he might decide to stay. But then he turned on his heels and marched up the stairs.

Good: he's finally gone. Now we can really get down to business.

"What I'm proposing is very simple, gentlemen. We are going to take over the world!"

Very surprised stares met my announcement. A few of them rolled their eyes, like they had expected me to say something like that, but the rest of them looked shocked. I went on. "You've seen this world, it's all gone to shit! The people who are actually running this place don't know what to do with it. But we do, and we've proved it, since we've shown time and time again that we're willing to put the good of the world above our own desires.

"But you heard Kyle; the Jews don't want to lose their power and their precious gold. He refused to admit it, but the truth was written all over his face; he was scared that we discovered his secret. The Jews are our enemy; they'll stop at nothing to prevent us from getting what's ours."

There were a few moments of silence, then Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "Cartman, you are so full of shit."

"Am I?" I asked. No one met my gaze, not even Stan. "I'm going to step out of this room, and I'll come back in in five minutes. In that time, you all have a choice to make. You can choose to join me, and I'll make sure that the world will remember our names. Fame, glory, power, and riches can all be yours. Or you can side with the Jews, and follow Kyle out the door. The choice is yours, but just remember; whoever is not with us is against us."

With that, I made my exit, and left them to choose their sides.

* * *

><p>Those of you who watch that documentary series about me (what's it called…<em>South Park<em>?) might wonder why I hang around Kyle all the time if I hate him so much. The answer is simple: you have to always remember who your opposition is (all those who are reading with the intention of following in my footsteps, be sure to remember this point).

Some people go through their whole childhood not knowing their opposition, and thus are always lost when they become adults. I'm lucky, because Kyle is the epitome of everything that I must overcome, and so he always served as a constant reminder of my struggles. His Jewish nature causes him to selfishly hoard everything he has, and to always want more. Some people say that I'm selfish, but it's not the same; I always use what I have to trade and gain, in the spirit of capitalism and free enterprise. This is completely different from the common Jew's pack rat tendencies. Kyle's Jersey blood causes him to think he's better than everyone else, and to immediately reject any evidence to the contrary; in short, he'll never recognize how wrong he is. People say I do that, but I always keep an open mind about who I am and what I can do. I know that I'm not the skinniest person in the world; I just get aggravated when people call me fat, because it's malicious, and people who are mean just for the sake of being mean really piss me off (when I make someone suffer, I always have a reason). Finally, Kyle's red hair signifies that his soulless nature, that he is simply a zombie without mercy or compassion that consumes everything in his path. He is the Triple J: Jewish, Jersey, and Jinger (I know that's not how it's spelled, but it might as well be), and if you look closely, JJJ looks a lot like 666. Kyle is the Evil One, the Scourge of the Earth.

Now, you might say, if he's that evil, why did I invite him to take over the world? Well, I didn't. I simply needed him to illustrate to the others who we were up against. Like all radical leaders throughout history, my suggestions were met with skepticism. I needed Kyle to be there so that they could all see how necessary the steps I was taking were, so they could all clearly see my opposition. Kyle listened to my proposals, and as I predicted, he violently opposed them, and stormed off. We both made our intentions clear; all the others have to do was make their decision.

Unfortunately, many of the others had been poisoned by Kyle's Jewish lies over the years. In their case, my proposal would fall on deaf ears. I had about four people in mind who would do the right thing and follow my lead, but the rest of them would be either too stupid, too indifferent, or too Jewish to take my words to heart. Which was too bad; it would be all that much worse for them in the end.

Well, five minutes are up. I better go see who's still here.

* * *

><p><strong>Who do you think will still be ready to follow Cartman? Find out in the next chapter...Allegiance <strong>


	4. Allegiance

**Hopefully, this chapter will give you all a clearer idea of the direction this story will be taking.**

* * *

><p>I walked back down into the basement to meet my recruits. Four people were waiting for me.<p>

Butters Stotch. No surprise there; he followed me everywhere and did whatever I told him to do. And, as I said, he in particular was crucial to the plan.

Kenny McCormick. Again, no surprise. Kenny usually followed Stan and Kyle's lead, but he was always a sucker for adventure. Especially if the adventure promised lots of money and women. Which this one did.

Ike Broflovski. I had suspected he would stay after he refused to leave with Kyle, but his motivations were a little less clear. Perhaps he resented his older brother for dragging him into the black abyss of Judaism. They always seemed to get along well together, but…well, Ike is just _way _cooler than Kyle. It's probably because he's only a Jew by absorption and not by birth. Which means I can still save him.

And lastly was Craig Tucker. Craig…I had no clue why he was still here. Unlike the other three, I hadn't expected him to stay. What's worse, I had no idea how he could be of use to me. Butters, Kenny, and Ike all had ways they could contribute to this effort, but Craig just sucked the life out of the air wherever he went. Not good at all.

Unfortunately, a person who I had expected (and wanted) to stay wasn't there; Wendy Testaburger was nowhere to be seen. However, just because she wasn't there didn't mean she wanted to leave; she had come with Stan, so Stan could have just as easily have dragged her away without really letting her choose. Hopefully that was the case; it would be devastating to me if she had willfully chosen to leave me.

Butters, Kenny, Ike, and Craig. Not the perfect team, but it was enough to get started.

"Thank you all for staying. I know we're all going to be a great success. But first, I need your motivations. You all have to be totally committed to this, or this whole thing is going to fall apart. Butters, why don't we start with you?"

"Me?" Butters stuttered. Yes, dumbass, you. "Well, I guess it's because I want to make a difference. Yeah, it's because my father's always saying, 'Butters, you're never going to make it anywhere in life unless you apply yourself.' Then, when I make bad grades, I get grounded," he finally muttered.

Next was Kenny. "Well, I've got nothing better to do. I think this could be fun. But I'm warning you, Cartman; you better be able to deliver on what you've promised, or I'm out." Exactly what I predicted.

"What he said," Craig grunted. But unlike Kenny, it was clear he was here literally just for kicks; he had nothing to offer, while Kenny would definitely be of use, even if he didn't know it yet. Craig would probably have to be cut loose from this operation soon.

Finally, it was Ike's turn. "Well, I think that there's a lot of truth in what Cartman said; we have done a lot for this world, and we really should be recognized for it. Besides…school has gotten so boring." No doubt, school was boring for Ike because he was a genius. He was only in 8th grade, but he was nearly as smart as me (and definitely smarter than Craig). And that's why he's the most dangerous of the four; he's the only one who was smart enough to be unpredictable.

"Okay, gentlemen. What you are about to witness is the first step in our rise to power. We—"

"Whoa, hold it, Cartman," Kenny interrupted. "We've already heard this speech. You don't need to convince anyone to stay; we're already here. What's the plan?"

"If you had let finish, I would have explained that the plan is already in motion." I reveled at their confused looks, but they would soon see what I meant. "As for the rest of it, we can't discuss it yet."

"Why not?" asked Butters.

"Because we're missing a crucial member of our team. Wendy Testaburger needs to be here."

"What are you talking about?" said Kenny. "You gave her a choice, and she left."

"But I know she's not on _their_ side," I replied. "Stan probably forced her to leave."

"It looked like she went willingly to me," Craig said. Always negative. I was starting to get irritated with his attitude.

"Then we'll just have to convince her that she made the wrong choice!" Inwardly, though, my heart sank; if she really had left completely freely, then I had probably lost her forever.

"Why do you care?" asked Kenny.

"Because she's ruthless. She has the kind of energy and charisma that this team will need in order to succeed." While all that was true, I was specifically trying to avoid saying that I loved her. The others would probably see that as weak (except for Butters, who would probably think it was sweet. Lovesick bastard).

"That brings us to another crucial part of the plan," I continued. This was going to be a hard selling point. "In addition to taking over the world, we will need to teach the others, the ones who refused my offer, the error of their ways."

That took a few minutes to sink in. "What do you mean?" asked Ike.

"I mean, that it's because of people like them that we're having to carry out this plan in the first place. What part of 'whoever is not with us is against us' do you guys not get?"

Kenny frowned. "Just how much of a 'lesson' are you going to teach them?"

Butters's eyes suddenly went wide. "You're not going to…kill them, are you?"

I smiled. Naïve he may be, but he definitely had initiative sometimes. "No, Butters, I'm not going to kill them. That would be murder, and if we committed murder, we would be no better than our enemies. But remember, those guys know what we're up to; if they try to uncover our operation, then everything will be ruined. We have to prevent that from happening."

I meant what I said about not murdering anyone. Considering that Ike was Kyles' brother, and Kenny was close friends with Stan and Kyle, it wouldn't do to just bump them off. Granted, they might wish they were dead by the time I was through with them, and they might even try to take their own life, but if they did it would be their fault, not ours. But I (or rather, my team) would not actually touch a hair on their heads; if there was one thing that my run-in with Scott Tenorman had proven, it was that punishment was all about subtlety.

I quickly added. "Don't worry. I know that turning on your friends is a hard thing to do. That's why I'll be handling that part of the mission." Kenny looked at me with worry in his eyes, like it had just occurred to him how serious I was about this project.

"As I was saying, the first phase of my plan should—"

At that moment, we heard a chorus of police sirens above us. Our house was being raided!

"Alright, guys, stay quiet," I hissed. "Kenny, go check the window."

Kenny ran over and looked outside. "Cartman, the police are here and…they're taking your mom away!" He pressed his ear against the glass. "Something about…drugs?"

"They must have found my mom's crack stash. They'll probably put her away for a long time; drug possession is very serious offense," I said.

"Your mom does crack? Since when?" Kenny demanded.

"Since she whores herself off for it on the street corner!" I had always known it was true, but it had never felt right to acknowledge it, since she was my mother. Now, since she was no longer my guardian, I didn't feel the need to hold back. Goodbye, mother. You have served me well, but now I have no further use for you.

Realization of what had just happened slowly dawned on them. "You arranged this?" Ike finally squeaked.

"Yes."

Kenny shook his head. "I can't believe you would frame your own mother with drug possession!"

"Who's framing anybody?" I pointed out. "She _does_ have a crack stash. I just gave an anonymous tip to the police, and…made the drugs a little easier to find."

"You know what I meant!" Kenny insisted.

"It was necessary," I insisted. "I'm already eighteen, so I can legally own the house. With her gone, we can use this house as our base of operations without any interference. Now, our plans can go forward."

The four of them looked at each other, finally realizing that this wasn't another one of my childish schemes; I fully intended to keep my word to them. Fame and power were on the horizon.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time...Split<strong>


	5. Split

Word of my mother's arrest quickly spread through the community. The next day in school, I was "the kid whose mother had been taken away," and all the teachers had lots of sympathy for me. The students were a little bit more suspicious, but all of my partners were too shaken to tell them what really happened.

To "cheer myself up," I invited all the boys in the class over for a guy's night. There was music, there was booze, and Butters was even able to use his influence as a former pimp to hire some hookers (at my request). All in all, a recipe for a good time.

Stan, Kyle and I sat down on the couch, watching the girls strut their stuff. Stan turned to me and said, "You know, Cartman, you're still an asshole, but you can throw a great party."

"I'll say," moaned Kenny, just walking up. He was already visibly more drunk than the rest of us, and his fly was still unzipped from…whatever it was he had just been doing.

"Hey, Ken, you're flashing everyone," I pointed out, then laughed as he clumsily tried to fix it.

I looked over at Kyle, who looked determined to have as little fun as possible. "Hey, Kyle," I said, "About the other day…I just wanted to let you know that I don't hold it against you that you walked out on my meeting. To be frank, it meant a lot to me that you showed up at all. So…no hard feelings, right?"

Kyle cracked a rare smile, as if all our constant arguing were just a big joke. "No hard feelings. I'm not mad at you, Cartman, it's just that…" He looked around and, with a genuine look of embarrassment on his face, chuckled, "I'm just always lost at these kinds of parties."

I laughed. Ah, so the Jew seeks love. Or the closest thing he can feel to love. "Well, we can fix that. Mercedes!" One of the hookers walked over. "A lap dance for my fine young friend here," I ordered, handing her a five dollar bill. Mercedes immediately slipped sensuously into Kyle's lap, while the three of us watched. Stan in particular, becoming more intoxicated by the minute, cheered Kyle on enthusiastically.

"Hey Stan, you look like you could use some company, too," I said. "Lexus!" A tall, red-haired girl sauntered up to Stan. Stan's pesky inhibitions kicked in: "Uh, no thanks, I've got a girlfr—"

"Shh, honey," purred Lexus. "Don't use the G-word."

"Don't worry about it, Stan," I said. "It's just a lap dance, it's not like you're having sex with her. Besides, it's a guys' party; I'm sure Wendy would understand. And Lexus is the cream of Butters' crop: the very best."

"Yeah, go for it, Stan," Kyle absentmindedly agreed, his eyes still glued on Mercedes.

Stan's objections stuck in his throat, as Lexus worked her magic.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after everyone had left, I sat in my room, thinking. I had not enjoyed myself nearly as well as I had hoped. Parties were well, and all, but all I could think of was how my schedule was currently at a standstill because I still needed Wendy on the team.<p>

Wendy…the more I thought about her, the angrier I became. It made me so mad that Stan had her; she deserved so much better than that puss. And it was clear he didn't value their relationship as much as he should. I saw him with those hookers; when Lexus began dancing, it didn't take him long to become completely taken in with her. Now, any straight guy can fall for Lexus's charms, I admit, but dammit, a real man would have tried harder to resist. I would have, if I had a girl like Wendy. And it was also clear, from the look of awe on Stan's face, that he had never had that kind of intimacy with anyone, let alone Wendy.

I pulled out my phone, and began to text Wendy: _Hey, ho, you know where Stan is? I need to ask him about History homework._

After about five minutes, a response came in_: Cartman, it's 2 in the morning. Why would I know where Stan is?_

Further evidence that they weren't intimate; spending the night with Stan wasn't a regular, or even occasional, occurrence, it seemed. _Well, he was pretty tipsy when he left my house earlier, so I just thought you might have picked him up._

_Stan was drunk? _The fact that even a drunken Stan wouldn't have sought out sex with her must have been at least a little bit of a shock. As it ought to have been.

I replied: _Well, yeah, he was just at a party. Didn't he tell you that?_

It took a while for her response to come in: _No, he didn't_. A major blunder for old Stan. I could just picture Wendy sitting on her bed in her pajamas, fuming.

_Well, I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about. It was mostly just us guys there_, I lied. Now, would she pick up on the _guys_, and think he might be gay, or would she pick up on the _mostly_, and think about what other girls were there?

_Who else was there?_ Suspicious of other girls it was.

_Just some of Butters' hos. No big deal. I don't think anything too bad happened._

I waited about fifteen minutes for her to reply. Finally, she texted back: _Cartman, I have to go to bed now_. I guess she had decided that she didn't want to know what might have happened, but she was now convinced that _something_ had happened.

I was ready to act against my former friends. Stan would be the first.

* * *

><p>Ike's first task as my partner was to hack Stan's facebook account. He had had some qualms about this, since I had told all of them that I would be handling all of the revenge stuff. I promised him that all he had to do was get me in, and I would take care of the rest. Eventually, he agreed.<p>

I immediately rejected the idea of taking over his facebook and engineering their breakup that way. It would be too obvious that it was someone else, and I couldn't risk it. So I simply waited, keeping a very close eye on private messages between him and Wendy.

About two weeks after my house party, Wendy finally arranged a date with Stan at Whistlin' Willy's. She had been somewhat distant with him during this time, like she was waiting for _him_ to ask _her_ out, and he had been completely oblivious to the fact (at least, if he had noticed, he hadn't addressed it over facebook). All of which worked in my favor. I took careful note of when the date was, then I called Butters to find out how I could get in touch with Lexus.

* * *

><p>I arrived at Whistlin' Willy's about fifteen minutes before Stan and Wendy were scheduled to show up, and picked a small booth I could casually observe from. When the couple came through, Wendy looked positively sour. She had obviously dressed up well for the occasion; she had on a beautiful dress, and just enough makeup to emphasize her natural eyes and cheeks. She looked, if I may say so, extremely sexy. Stan looked somewhat cheerful, but he was dressed far more casually; it was clear he wasn't taking this date as seriously as he needed to.<p>

They sat down, and made polite conversation for a while, although it was too noisy for me to hear what they were saying. Wendy slowly became more and more irritated with Stan's flippancy, while he continued to not notice. I decided that it was time, and texted Lexus to come in.

She walked—no, glided—in, wearing an outfit I had personally selected, deeming it sexy, but casual enough that it could have been worn on accident. She passed by Stan's table, and with a look of surprise that could have convinced even me, she called out, "Oh, hi Stan," then she continued to casually make her way to the bar. Perfect.

Stan's cheeks went red as she spoke, no doubt from the recollection of her lap dance. "Hi, Lexus," he managed to get out, then he turned back to his date. That was when he finally noticed Wendy's expression, which was now purple with rage. I watched him mentally put together what had just happened; he had just said hello in a familiar way to an scantily dressed girl while on a date with his girlfriend, who was already suspicious of him. Then, and only then, did the look of realization and horror at his mistake spread across his face.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't forget to leave a review. Positive encouragement and constructive criticism are both much appreciated. <strong>

**Next time...Confession**


	6. Confession

"Who the hell was that!" Wendy demanded. She was talking loud enough for me to hear her. Not that that was difficult; the whole restaurant had fallen silent by this point.

"Wendy, I can explain—" Stan began, but Wendy cut him off.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," she hissed. "I'm sure you just met her at some party somewhere. That you went to without telling me."

"Wendy, it wasn't like that. She—" Stan looked around and realized that everyone was watching him. I don't think he noticed me, though. "She…she was dancing. That was all," he murmured, shivering.

"And you were just watching, is that it?" Wendy spat.

Stan nodded, but he was a very bad liar.

"That's it, Stan. I've had it! Go away!" Wendy ordered.

"But, Wendy—"

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she screamed. Then she buried her face in her arms, and didn't say another word. Stan was flabbergasted. Not knowing what else to do, he stood up, and walked out of the restaurant in a daze.

This sort of thing had happened before. Stan had never taken the relationship as seriously as Wendy did, and Wendy had frequently accused him of cheating or simply not caring. They had broken up a few times before, but they had always gotten back together within a few weeks. It was a pretty consistent pattern. Despite what it might have looked like, this argument was really not serious enough to break them up permanently; they would probably get back together in about a month, after Stan stopped being depressed, and Wendy stopped being bitchy.

That is, they would unless I did something to break the cycle first.

After waiting a few minutes for Wendy to cool down (and to make my appearance seem less opportunistic), I paid for my meal, and began to walk out, passing by Wendy's booth. She was still crying. Trying to put as much concern in my voice as I could, I asked, "Are you alright, Wendy?"

She looked up with wet eyes, and saw me. If she was suspicious about my being here now, she didn't show it. "I just…I wished I could trust him," she whispered, holding her head low again.

"Yeah, I saw that. That was wrong, what he did to you," I said gravely.

"Yes, it was." Then she looked at me closely. "I thought you said nothing happened at that party."

"Oh, I guess I did," I realized. "Well, they didn't actually have sex, and I thought that's what you were asking. As far as I know, she _was_ just dancing."

Wendy nodded.

"In Stan's lap," I added.

She growled unpleasantly. "He didn't mention that. And come to think of it, neither did you."

"I guess I didn't think it was that big a deal at the time. It was a guys' party; those things do happen." On a limb, I went on. "Although now that I think back on it, he _did_ look like he was enjoying himself a little too much."

Wendy's eyes narrowed. "You and the others didn't egg him on, did you?"

I chose my words carefully. "Not really. I guess there was some peer pressure, since nearly everyone else was getting one. And then there was the sheer temptation. It would have been hard for most straight guys to resist."

"Even you?"

"I admit, I did succumb to their charms for a while." This was actually not true, but I decided it might work to my advantage. "But then again, I'm currently single, so I didn't have any reason to resist. Stan, on the other hand…"

"…had me," Wendy finished. Then her eyes started to water again. "Am I just…not good enough for him?" Then she broke down and began to cry again.

It was easy for me to appear sad (I did it to fool my mom all the time), but trying to be tender and consoling was a skill I had never really attempted to master. So I simply tried to be as nice as I could. "Maybe we shouldn't dwell on this too much. Here, let me pay the bill, and I'll drive you home."

Wendy sniffed back a tear. "That's very generous of you, Eric, but you don't have to pay for this."

Encouraged by the fact she had called me _Eric_ rather than _Cartman_, I insisted, "Nonsense. That scumbag may have cheated on you, but he's not going to make you pay for his food. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Thank you. That's very kind."

At this point, I was desperately hoping this whole thing would work; otherwise, I would have just paid for two people's meals for nothing. I smiled. "It's the least I could do."

* * *

><p>We rode back to Wendy's house in silence. Wendy didn't seem like she was in the mood to talk, and that was alright; I decided to let her get the bad feelings out of her system.<p>

I pulled up into her driveway. "Well, here we are," I said. "I'm sorry your evening went so badly."

Wendy turned to me, her eyes surprisingly dry. "May I ask you a question, Eric?"

"Sure."

"Tell me the truth…you planned for all this to happen, didn't you?"

…Shit! I could lie and try to deny it. Unlike Stan, I was a good liar, but I'm not sure even I could have lied convincingly enough to fool her. Besides, I didn't want to lie to Wendy.

"I confess…I did arrange for you to find out about this. But everything else—Lexus, the lap dance, the party—that all happened exactly as I told you." That, at least, was true. "Stan ignored his duties as a boyfriend, and looked at another woman."

Wendy shook her head. "You're a real bastard, Cartman."

I know.

Then she broke down again, sobbing. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I can't bear to see you dating that leech!" I blurted out. The feelings I had kept inside of me for so long just spilled out. "Stan's not good enough for you. He doesn't care about you. He just wants you so he can say he has a girlfriend, because among the guys, it gives him respect. Admit it, Wendy; I've known for a long time that you're not happy in this relationship. You two aren't really close; you're both just afraid to change. And whenever you do break up with him, he gets really depressed, and then you get back together with him because you feel bad. You two aren't even intimate."

Wendy glared at me, and I wondered if I had pushed it too far. "How do you know?" she cried.

I sighed. "It's obvious that you aren't. When a guy—if I may be so blunt—'conquers' a girl, he's proud of it. He tells his friends about it, so that they'll know how great he is. Stan never talks about you. Whenever Kyle, Kenny, or I ask him about a date with you, he always says, 'It was okay.' That's it. He's never pursued anything more serious with you because you just don't mean that much to him. And if I'm wrong—if you two have slept together—then the only reason he wouldn't have mentioned it to us is because he was embarrassed. Because he was ashamed of having been with you. You deserve better than that."

I took a few minutes to let my words sink in. I hoped I hadn't been too harsh, but I had to tell her how I really felt. I had never felt more exposed than I did right now. I often hid my true feelings and intentions from people, because there were so few people in this world that I could really trust. To use a phrase, I always play my cards close to the vest. I had never opened up to anyone so completely before, and I honestly felt really scared and vulnerable.

Wendy sat in silence for a few minutes, and then muttered, "We're not."

"What?"

"Intimate. Stan and I weren't…intimate."

I nodded. "I see."

Wendy stared right at me, and I could swear that she could see right into my soul. "You're good. But maybe you've told me all this just because you want me to be with you instead of Stan."

"Wendy, I would be lying if I said I didn't want you. You're just like me; we're both strong-willed, we're both stubborn, and neither of us is afraid to take what we want. By any means necessary. We're perfect for each other. And I know that if I had a girl like you, there isn't a slut in the world beautiful enough to make me give you up. But I'm not heartless; I did this because I want what's best for _you_, whether that's being with me, or whether it's just being away from Stan. Please don't go crawling back to him."

Wendy nodded in agreement. "I won't." She put her hand on the door handle, but then paused. "Eric, is that really what boys do? Brag about having sex to their friends?"

"Yes, it is…why?" I asked warily.

"Is that what you would do?"

"I suppose so."

Then Wendy grinned. "So if you did me—right here, right now—would you go to Stan tomorrow and tell him that you fucked his ex-girlfriend?"

I grinned right back. "I guess I could do that." That was, of course, what I had planned to do all along, to some degree or other.

But I would have never guessed, in a million years, that Wendy would ask me to have sex with her the very night she broke up with Stan. My plan had worked even better than I expected. Granted, she was probably only asking me because she wanted to get back at Stan, and because she was still venting her emotions, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I know that she'll eventually fall in love with me for real.

"But instead of doing it here, let's go to my place," I suggested. "There's more room, and no one will disturb us." She agreed.

That night, I was finally able to put all of Chef's advice to good use.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter...Explosion<strong>


	7. Explosion

**Merry Christmas to you all! Your present..._Cartman Rising_, Chapter 7: Explosion**

* * *

><p>After a wild night, I drove Wendy to school the next morning, after leaving messages for Stan, Kyle, and Kenny to tell them I didn't have time to pick them up. We had both dressed quickly, and both seemed a little disheveled, but we agreed to just leave it that way, and see what happened.<p>

Kenny was the only one of the three who arrived at school before I did. Being Kenny, he saw Wendy getting out of my car, and my badly buttoned shirt, and immediately knew what had happened. "Daaaamn, Cartman."

Even though I had told Wendy about guys gaining respect through sex, I obviously had never experienced it before. I have to say, to have Kenny "Ladies' Man" McCormick to look at me with such wide-eyed respect was a great feeling.

Kyle caught up to us in first period. "Cartman, what the fuck? How come you couldn't pick me up for school?"

"Well…" No, I wouldn't tell Kyle just yet. I'd tell him and Stan at the same time. "I overslept. I was up pretty late last night." Not a lie, just an omission of the whole truth. "I did tell you guys that I wouldn't be able to make it."

"Yeah, I guess so," Kyle admitted. "Say, where is Stan? I haven't seen him…"

* * *

><p>Stan didn't show up the whole day. Wendy and I had told a few people what had happened between us, but the whole thing hadn't become common knowledge yet.<p>

On the way to my car, Kyle suggested that we go check on Stan. Wendy had already arranged for her dad to come pick her up, so I drove Kyle and Kenny over to Stan's house. After knocking on the door a few times, we just walked in, since it was unlocked.

The place was a mess. There was a whole bunch of stuff just strewn all over the floor; I saw at least a jacket, a pair of shoes, a sock, and an empty bottle of sleeping pills. Everything was unkempt. To top it all off, Stan himself was sitting on the couch, frozen. It looked like he had been sitting there since last night, and judging from the empty bottle, had been unable to sleep.

"Hey guys," he said in a deathlike monotone.

"How come you weren't school today?" asked Kyle.

"I don't want to talk about it," Stan droned.

"Wendy broke up with you, didn't she?" Kenny guessed. Although from the way he was glancing at me, he was pretty confident in that guess.

Stan nodded sickly. Kyle groaned. Like me, he disliked Stan's relationship with Wendy. But the reason he didn't like it was because he didn't think it was good for _Stan_, since he got so depressed every time they broke up.

"Stan, how many times do I have to tell you?" Kyle said. "You can't just lock yourself up in your house every time Wendy breaks up with you. You have to be more independent." He sighed. "In a few days, she'll take you back, and the same cycle will start all over again: dating, breakup, depression, reunion. If you don't break from the cycle soon, then you'll—"

"Cartman," said Stan, taking a closer look at me and interrupting Kyle's rant , "why is Wendy's LIPSTICK on your FACE?"

Kenny snickered. Kyle looked at the red smudge on the corner of my mouth, having not noticed it earlier. Understanding spread across his twisted Jew face. "Wendy KISSED you?"

"I think she did a bit more than that," Kenny chuckled. He was enjoying every minute of this.

"Well," I began, "there I was at Whistlin' Willy's, and I saw Wendy get really mad at Stan and throw him out. He must have really upset her, because she was just sobbing into her salad. I went to go cheer her up, one thing led to another, and we both ended up at my house."

Stan and Kyle gaped at me. Kenny just asked, "So…how was it?" with a completely straight face.

"Dude, it was _awesome_." Truest thing I ever said.

Stan seemed to have permanently lost his voice; it looked like he was trying to scream at me, but no words were coming out of his mouth. Kyle, on the other hand, took a deep breath and began: "HOW DO YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COME TO STAN'S HOUSE AND TELL HIM THAT YOU FUCKED WENDY? YOU FUCKING FAT SON OF A BITCH! THIS IS BY FAR THE LOWEST, MOST REPULSIVE THING YOU'VE EVER DONE, AND IF I—"

I stepped out of the house while he was still yelling; things to do, and all that. But it was such sweet music to my ears.

* * *

><p>That night, I talked with Wendy long into the night. It turned out that she <em>had<em> been interested in my world domination plan, and had tried to stay before Stan convinced her to leave. I went over some of the finer points of my strategy with her, and she was even able to provide some good ideas of her own. Between the two of us, we managed to come with a strategy for our next target.

* * *

><p>I stood by my locker at school the next day, arranging my books and folders. It should be almost time, now…<p>

"Cartman." Kyle walked up to me with a scowl on his face.

"Yeeees?" I said, displaying my most innocent smile.

"Don't give me that," the Jewish boy growled. "I don't know what this is all about, but there's one thing I'm sure of: Wendy and Stan are apart because of _you_!"

"Kyle, I already explained it to you. She was sad—"

"I don't care what you said, it's a lie!" Kyle snapped. "_You_ broke them up!"

"And if I did?" He hesitated, so I continued: "Wendy's better off without him. Besides, I thought you said Stan was better off without her?"

"That's not the point! The way you did it is killing him; it's too much of a shock! He's already stopped coming to school. How long do you think it will be before he starts hitting the bottle again? This isn't about Wendy; this is about _you_, and this is about _Stan_. You only did this to hurt him!"

"I am surprised at you, Kyle, to think that I would stoop to such depths. I didn't do it just to hurt him. I wanted to help Wendy; the two events were just inseparable."

Kyle crossed his arms; it was clear that he didn't believe me at all. That was fine; I hadn't really expected him to. I was in a good mood; now that word of our coupling had spread, several people had already congratulated me, saying how lucky I was, and so forth. I decided that I was feeling...bold.

"But while we're speculating about 'me trying to hurting people,'" I went on, "you shouldn't be worried about Stan; you should be worried about _you_."

"Me?" Kyle's already pale face drained itself of all its color.

"Yes. After all, if I were hypothetically engaged in some plot to bring down the people I dislike," I grinned, "Stan would just be the first on the list. And if Stan's the first, who's to say where it will go from there?" There was a dramatic pause that I couldn't have planned better if I tried. Then:

"Ohhhh, I don't feel so good…"

Kyle turned to the voice: Clyde Donovan's. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, clutching his stomach like he was in pain. If I had to guess, I would say that the brownies he had for lunch—the _very special_ brownies—were violently disagreeing with him.

Today was a big day for Clyde; he had a wrestling competition later this afternoon. And every day he had a match, Bebe always made him lunch. And some days (like today, for instance), Wendy helped her fix it.

Wendy felt that Clyde and Bebe had a very similar relationship to the one she and Stan used to have. Clyde just liked having a girlfriend because it made him popular among the guys; he never put an ounce of effort into the relationship, and once Bebe could be made to see that, she would break it off, and find someone else.

As it was, humiliating Clyde was all part of my own plan. And once I told Wendy that I would be able to get Bebe all the shoes she wanted (Clyde's dad owned a shoe store, and that's how he kept Bebe on his leash) once we were rich and famous, that sealed the deal.

So I made the brownies (complete with plenty of laxatives and Arby's horsey sauce, of course), Wendy helped pack them in the lunch, and Bebe gave them to Clyde. I wasn't sure if Wendy had told Bebe what would happen, but I kind of doubted it; better to just wait and let her find out afterwards.

As it was, even_ I_ wasn't sure exactly what would happen. Ordinarily, these brownies would make someone crap their pants like crazy. But Clyde had had a colostomy since he was five, and I didn't know what difference that would make. Although judging from the look on Clyde's face at this moment, I was about to find out.

Clyde was doubled over in agony now, and his face was red and contorted. "I—I need to—I need to shit! BAD!" He tried to make a break for the bathroom, but he would never make it; the laxatives were so powerful, they nearly caused him to collapse every time he took a step.

I spotted Wendy walking calmly from the other direction. "Has it happened yet?" she asked, too softly for Kyle to hear.

"Not yet," I told her. "You might not want to watch; this is about to get really ugly."

"And miss all the fun?" she asked, grinning mischievously. God, I loved her.

"How many did he eat?"

She giggled. "Five."

Five? I shuddered. And that was when Clyde blew.

Or, to be more specific, when his waste bag blew. Because of his colostomy, that's where all his crap went, and he had to change it several times a day. And the brownies had caused it to fill up so fast that it burst. So instead of a spray of crap coming out of him, it was an explosion that covered the lockers, floor, _ceiling_, and everyone unlucky enough to be standing within 15 feet of Clyde with mounds of shit.

It was the _absolute funniest_ thing I had _ever_ seen in all my life. Bar none.

Everyone close to him screamed. Everyone else was laughing their ass off, especially me. Kenny and Craig were laughing so hard they were crying. Bebe turned into the hallway, and Clyde, sprawled on the ground for all to see, looked up at her.

"Bebe…" he murmured weakly, "…help me…"

One glance at Clyde was enough for Bebe. "EWWWWWW!" She screamed, and ran away as fast as she could.

Clyde whimpered, and collapsed, fainting in his own shit. Kyle looked at me with horror on his face, but I just smiled, and walked away whistling.

All in a good day's work.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, just in case there are any medical experts out there, I don't know if too many laxatives would <em>actually<em> have this effect on someone with a colostomy. But if it's not, cut me some slack; this is a fanfic on the internet after all.**

**Next time...Takeover**


	8. Takeover

So, within just a few short weeks of setting my plans into motion, Stan and Clyde had already been taken care of. Stan had dropped out of school, and spent all his time in a depressed, drunken state (I guess the knowledge that Wendy really wasn't coming back this time—and more importantly, that she was mine—was hitting him pretty hard). It was all Kyle could do to keep him on his feet and off the streets.

Clyde was in worse shape. He had also dropped out of school, and Bebe had dumped him. She was already eager for our arrangement of new shoes for her. Clyde's classmates had thus far not let him forget that fateful incident in the hallway. And I heard a rumor that he had already tried to commit suicide, but had failed. Twice.

But, of course, world domination plans were not all fun and games. So, now that Wendy was completely on board, I called a meeting to discuss our next move. Kenny, Butters, Wendy, Ike, and Craig all joined me in my basement.

"Gentlemen, and lady," I said, motioning to Wendy, "we are now ready to begin."

"Our logical goal in this endeavor should be the United States. If we can only gain control of the United States, then we will have enough weaponry and political power to slowly conquer the entire world. America is the most powerful nation on earth; once we have it, getting the rest should be easy."

Craig yawned.

Kenny looked skeptical. "And just how do you propose we take over the U.S.? The last time I checked, none of us are old enough to be president," he asked, taking a sip of water.

"You're thinking too small, Kenny," I chastised. "Becoming president has too many rules and restrictions; it would take years. And even if one of us did become president, he or she would just have to follow more rules, like the Constitution and proper protocol, et cetera. The president is not the supreme ruler. That's out."

"What we should do, is take over control of a smaller, more casually ruled country, and then annex America from there."

Craig shook his head. "How the hell are we going to take over the United States from a smaller country?"

I smiled. "Oh, I'll think of something, Craig."

Craig still wasn't convinced. "I suppose you've already picked out the crap country in question?"

"Mexico," I announced.

Kenny spluttered his water all over the table. I wiped it off my jacket in disgust. "Kenny, that's fucking nasty!"

"Says the guy who made Clyde shit his pants," Craig smirked.

But Kenny hadn't heard either of us. "Mexico? Why would we want to take over Mexico? Why would _anyone_ want to take over Mexico?"

"Because it's very unlikely to arouse suspicion," I explained. "Besides, just in case the rest of the plan doesn't work, we'll still be ruling a country. A great man once said, 'It is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven.'"

Ike raised his hand. "That was Satan."

"Oh…" That's right, it was. Well, that was an embarrassing slip.

"You're still forgetting one thing, Cartman," Kenny pointed out. "Mexico is _worse_ than hell! And how exactly is taking over Mexico going to be easier than taking over the U.S., anyway? We're not even Mexican citizens (thank God)."

"That's the easy part," I chuckled. "It just so happens that we already have the man who can lead Mexico. In fact, he already is the rightful ruler of Mexico."

"What?" exclaimed Ike. "Who?"

I said nothing, but glanced over at Butters. Told you he was essential, didn't I?

Butters explained. "Well, I was in charge of Mexico for a little while."

"Exactly," I said. "At the Second Coming of Mantequilla, Butters will be accompanied by his royal brotherhood—us—who will stand in unity and dominion over the Mexican people, bringing an era of peace and prosperity for all time."

There was a stunned silence. For the first time since I gave my original proposal, everyone listening genuinely believed that my plan could work. Even Ike and Craig looked fairly convinced.

"Now, this next move is still going to be a difficult one for all of us," I solemnly said. "We will all have to leave our friends and family to go rule Mexico. The first few weeks may be difficult—it is an underdeveloped country, after all—but that's why we're going there; to try and make the world a better place through our leadership. And this parting need only be temporary; if you choose, your families can come live with us after we've become _their_ rulers.

"Pack your bags. We leave on Saturday."

* * *

><p>My last days in South Park were the best times I had ever had. I finally was able to tell all the teachers and students exactly what I thought of them. Especially Kyle. I even managed to get him mad enough to start a fight. That landed us both in weekend detention. Little did Kyle know I wouldn't be serving it with him.<p>

I had also instructed the others to not to tell anyone that we were leaving. Ike and Butters were spending their time trying to make the most of what few days they had left in this town, knowing they may not see these people for a long time. Kenny and Craig, on the other hand, were following my lead, and making sure the school would never forget them after they were gone.

Wendy barely changed her routine. To her friends, she was just the same old Wendy. The only difference was, having taken my advice to not hide behind her veil of benevolence, she had "shown her colors," so to speak. Her usually happy subjects in the student body began to quiver in fear as the SGA president's iron fist closed in around them, no longer cloaked in the hand of friendship. I _knew_ that she was just like me.

When the day finally arrived, all of my partners left notes telling their parents where they would be, what we were doing (there was no way they could stop us at this point), and that we would call them later. Then we piled into my pickup truck and Wendy's hybrid, and drove out of South Park, through the desert, past the border, and into Mexico. All without incident.

Upon arriving in Mexico City, we were greeted by a huge crowd of happy Mexicans. The president of Mexico, we heard, had found out we were coming and killed himself before Butters' loyal followers could assassinate him. So we literally just walked into the president's former residence without resistance.

"We should renovate this place into a real palace," I muttered. "Well, Butters, it's time for you to make your speech."

"A sp-speech?" Butters asked. He looked out at the crowd, and rubbed his knuckles together nervously. "I don't know if I can—"

"Don't worry, Butters. I'll talk you through it," I assured him.

With my help, Butters addressed the crowd. He told them of what he had done since he left the country eight years ago, and how he had become part of our group, the Brotherhood of Six. He explained that he had come back to lead them, just as he promised, and that this would mark the beginning of a new and great era for the country of Mexico. All of this was put very eloquently and very persuasively (with my help).

As it turned out, he probably could have stood in front of the crowd and just waved. Long before he was finished, the crowd was already completely behind him. "_¡Dios te salve Mantequilla!"_ they cheered._ "¡El que era el rey, y ahora es el rey otra vez!_"

* * *

><p>That night, I left a message for each of my partners' families, giving them our number, and telling them that they could reach us at any time, provided we weren't on official business. The next day, the calls came pouring in.<p>

Kenny reassured his parents that he was alright, and promised that they would see him soon. He also said that, if he could, he would send them any kinds of valuables he could get his hands on. Ah, he was such a good kid.

Wendy seemed rather stern with her parents. They had insisted she come home immediately, and she had told them off, saying that she could never have been satisfied by her life in South Park. Things started to get a little personal after that; she told them, "Yes, I am having sex with Eric Cartman. What are you going to do about it?" I smiled, and Kenny cheered.

When Butters's parents called, they were furious. They yelled at him for about ten minutes straight, and demanded that he return to South Park immediately, or he would be grounded for the rest of his life, instead of just ten years. Butters gritted his teeth for a moment, and then grew a spine at last and said, "Mom and Dad…you two can just suck my balls." Then he hung up; I was pretty sure that they wouldn't be calling back.

No one called for Craig. I guess even his parents were glad to be rid of him.

Then a phone call came for me. It was Kyle.

"_What the hell are you doing, fatass?_"

"I believe I already told you. I am going to take over the world, and I am currently in Mexico, carrying out my promise."

Kyle laughed. "_Cartman, you don't know the first thing about ruling a country. Your plans will be in ruins within a week._"

"Oh, yeah? Well, we'll just see about that, won't we, Kyle?"

"_I don't have any qualms about you making a fool of yourself. But you _will _bring my little brother back home, right now! My parents are worried sick!_"

"Your brother is fine, Kyle, but he's not coming back yet. He doesn't want to."

I heard the phone change hands, and Kyle's bitch of a mother came on.

"_Eric, this is Mrs. Broflovski. Please bring our boy back; we miss him_," she said.

Despite the contempt I felt for the woman, I decided it would be best to be civil. "Ma'am, your little boy is about to be famous," I said. "In a week, he's going to be officially crowned as one of the six rulers of Mexico. At thirteen, he'll be the youngest national leader in the world."

"_We just want him to come home._"

"Did I mention that, as a national leader, he will be rich beyond your wildest dreams? And that I'm sure he would be willing to share his fabulous wealth with his loyal family?"

There was a pause. "_Really?_"

"Yes. You'll never want again. Your piles of Jew gold will double, or maybe even triple in size."

I heard some distant conversation on the other end between Kyle and his mom. I distinctly heard the bitch tell her son, "_Maybe it's for the best._" The Kyle grabbed the phone. "_Has everyone but me gone completely fucking insane?_" Then he apologized to his mom for the profane outburst, and I snickered.

"You really should get that sand out of your vagina, Kyle."

"_SHUT UP! You bring my brother back, NOW!_"

I gave Ike the phone. "I'm staying," was all he said. Then he handed it back to me. Kyle sounded ready to cry on the other end.

"_Please…_"

"No can do, Jew boy. He's happy here, happier than he ever was with you."

At that, Kyle completely broke down and sobbed. It was a sound I could listen to all day. But then again, it was reasonable that even he could be feeling sadness right now. His best friend was all washed up, and his little brother had just become my disciple. He didn't think his life could possibly get any worse.

Boy, was he wrong. And speaking of which…

"By the way, Kyle, you know our 'little secret?' That I was supposedly going around getting revenge on all my old friends?"

He sniffed. "_Yes…_"

"Well, I wouldn't warn them, if I were you. That will just make it worse for them," I laughed. "But don't you worry; I have something very, _very_ special planned for you."

I waited just long enough to hear him gasp. Then I hung up.

Sweet.

* * *

><p>Finally, the day of our official coronation ceremony arrived. The Mexicans donated clothes that looked as much like royal robes as they could find. They also fashioned some tin crowns for us (oh well, we'll get gold ones eventually).<p>

Then the moment finally came. The Mexicans all came forth, and pledged undying loyalty to the Brotherhood of Six and their new government. And we were all crowned as co-rulers of the entire country.

I almost cried with happiness. I had waited for a moment like this all my life. I was now in charge (at least in part) of an entire nation. It may have been a small, crappy nation, but it was a start. The world would soon be in my grasp.

Then we all walked back inside our pseudo-palace, away from our appointed servants, and cheered. We were well on our way to reaching our goal. "This calls for celebration," I announced. "Butters?"

Butters whistled. His hookers, whom he had sent for earlier in the week, walked into the room single file, dressing in as little clothing as they could manage.

"Gentlemen," I said, gesturing towards the girls, "choose."

Ike's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Butters smiled. Craig, as usual, didn't react. And Kenny asked, "Can I pick two?" Eventually, they all chose partners. Then they all looked expectantly at me. Wendy gave me a puzzled look, and I smiled in return.

"No thanks," I said. "I've already got someone. If she'll have me." Wendy, with tears of happiness, rushed into my arms and kissed me. And I kissed her in return, thrilled that I had had the chance to prove that I would choose her above all other women.

And outside, the crowd continued to cheer: "_¡Viva México! ¡Viva la Hermandad de Seis!_"

* * *

><p><strong>And now for some quick translation: "<strong>_**¡Dios te salve Mantequilla! ¡El que era el rey, y ahora es el rey otra vez!**_**" means "**_**Hail Mantequilla! He who was king, and now is king again!**_**" (a play on a line from "The Once and Future King")**

**Also, "**_**¡Viva México! ¡Viva la Hermandad de Seis!**_**" means "**_**Long live Mexico! Long live the Brotherhood of Six!**_**" (a play on a line from "Animal Farm")**

**Incidentally, "Mantequilla" (Butter's Mexican name, from the episode "The Last of the Meheecans") is literally Spanish for "butter." I just thought that was funny.**

**Be sure to catch the next chapter...Seduction  
><strong>


	9. Seduction

**It only just occurred to me, if I had been able to watch the latest episode "The Poor Kid" before or while I was writing _My Name is Kenny_, I could have made it that much better by really including Karen in the plot. The only thing I could think while that episode was on was, "Kenny really is the greatest brother anyone could have."**

**Anyway, enough reminiscing. Welcome to Seduction, _Cartman Rising_'s first chapter of the new year!**

* * *

><p>The beginning of our reign went fairly smoothly. The Mexicans spent the next few months constructing proper roads and buildings throughout the country, as well as generally improving the living standard. We considered it of the utmost importance that our new Kingdom not be an eyesore to the rest of the world.<p>

Each member of the Brotherhood was given important tasks to oversee. Ike had the duty of teaching all the Mexicans to speak English. Of everyone in the Brotherhood, only Wendy, Ike, and I knew any Spanish at all, and I was the only who could speak it fluently. That might have given me an advantage over the others, but speaking Spanish always gave me a headache, so it was up to the Mexicans to learn English. Ike was the best suited for this because our main target in this endeavor was to educate the children, and we felt that he could relate to them the best, since he was only thirteen. I must admit, he was very good at it, but I guess Kyle always did say that his brother was a genius.

Kenny was given the job of inspecting all of the construction that the Mexicans were doing, to make sure that everything was up to safety code. Kenny was surprised that I chose this job for him, but it turned out he was extremely capable. He was able to spot potential hazards within seconds of entering a building, and he was always very thorough; he was inspecting buildings even faster than the Mexicans were building them. And that's fast.

Butters had the important job of appearing alongside the other members of the Brotherhood, while they went about their assigned tasks. The people all loved him, and that was good. But we needed the people to love us, too, not just him. So whenever one of us went about on our official business, Butters was always present—not in charge, mind you, but simply there—so as to reinforce the idea that Butters was simply part of our group. Eventually, the people would learn to love the six of us equally.

Assigning tasks to Craig was becoming a problem. He quickly proved himself too indifferent or simply too incompetent to be relied on to do anything right. We couldn't afford for the Mexicans to see us as anything but superior, so whenever Craig slipped up, we had to quickly move him to another position. But a week later, we'd have to move him again, and it was really starting to piss me off. If the problem wasn't resolved soon, people might start to notice, and we couldn't afford for that to happen.

Wendy, being the most skilled leader other than myself, was the grand overseer of all this. She coordinated, she planned, she prepared, and she acted. It was clear that she knew all about ruling a country. Not that I didn't, but she had more experience than I did; she said, "It's just like running a school…only bigger." I helped her with this job, which consisted mostly of keeping Craig out of her hair so she could get more important things done.

In addition to babysitting Craig, I had turned my attention back to punishing my old friends for their betrayal. The next people on my list were the handicapped kids—Jimmy and Timmy. God, how I hated those guys. Jimmy always thought he was so funny, but no one had the heart to tell him that his stand-up comedy sucked (I mean yeah, he had a good stage presence, but his jokes were awful). And since people told him he was funny, he always tried to make lame jokes whenever he was around us. He also couldn't stand people being more funny than he was. Like the time I wrote the funniest joke ever (you've all heard of the Fishsticks joke, right? Well, I came up with it, but that motherfucking cripple tried to make like it was all his idea).

Timmy was worse; he was even more self-absorbed than Jimmy was. He literally never talked about anyone or anything other than himself. And people call me narcissistic…

No doubt about it. Those two would have to be dealt with. I contacted Ike and Butters.

Ike was annoyed that I needed him again to carry out my end of the bargain. However, I promised him that this was the last time I asked him for help on this; I just needed him to hack his way into the Special Olympics' official website. I also told him to break into the South Park police database; I would be able to make use of that later. But for now, I would just make some changes to the entertainment for the Special Olympics' closing ceremony. Then I asked Butters for two of his hookers to use for the mission. Sally and Tammy would do nicely, I thought. Then I made the rest of the arrangements.

Confident that Wendy and the others would be able to take care of things while I was gone, I set off for the Special Olympics to observe my handiwork. My personal presence wasn't necessary for the plan to work, but where's the fun in revenge if you can't watch?

* * *

><p>"And the winner of the 200 meter swim…Jimmy Valmer!"<p>

Jimmy walked up to the stage and graciously accepted the trophy. "Th-thank you, hon-honorab-ble j-judges." Then he walked back down to his seat. The last award having been given, the audience and athletes sat back and enjoyed the evening's entertainment: a concert by the hit band, "Timmy and the Lords of the Underworld."

Their lead singer began the first song: "Ahem…Timmmmmeh timmeh timmeh! Livin' a livin' a liven' a lie, timmeh! Timmeh tim timmeh, tim tim…!"

Jimmy spotted me, and came to pick out a seat next to me. "Well h-hey, Eric. What d-did you th-think of the com…the com-p…the comp-etition this year?"

I nodded absently. "Not too shabby, Jimmy."

"Personally, I thought that Juan José did f-f-fantastic in the hurdles, didn't you?" Jimmy added.

"Who?"

He gave me a funny look. "Juan José? The representative from your country?"

Oh yeah, the cover story. I had decided that my reason for being here would be to accompany our athlete as Mexico's official ambassador. Unfortunately, we couldn't find any handicapped runners on such short notice, so we took along Juan José to play our athlete. After we broke his legs and gave him a concussion (you know, to make him mentally handicapped). He hadn't done quite as well as I had hoped, but he made a good alibi.

"Oh yeah, he didn't do too bad. I personally thought he choked in the 100 meter dash, but he definitely made us proud," I said.

Jimmy apparently didn't catch my lapse. "I say, it's g-good to see Tim-Tim singing again. What a co-coincidence that, even though he st-stopped par-p-participating in the Olympics, he sh-should be playing at our cl-closing ceremony?"

I smiled. "Yes. It sure is."

As Timmy finished his last song, the audience stood up and cheered. Timmy bowed, and rolled his way off of the stage. Jimmy congratulated him: "Ex-exc…excelllll…good job, Tim-Tim!"

"Yeah, well done, Timmy," I said.

"Hellloooo, boys…" A smooth voice came from behind us. We turned around and saw two attractive women walk up, dressed in beautiful eveningwear.

"Well, h-hi there," said Jimmy, immediately drawn in by the girls' figures.

"These look like the men of the hour," said the taller of the two women.

"Oh, not me," I said. "I'm just a lowly ambassador."

Suddenly, Jimmy squinted at the shorter girl. "Say, don't I kn-know you?" Crap, I had forgotten how well integrated Jimmy was into the nightlife. "Sally D-Darson, right? One of B-Butters St-Stotch's girls," he guessed.

Fortunately, Sally was a quick thinker. "I was, but then Butters went off to go rule Mexico, and left me out of a job," she lied. "But its ok; being a whore is not as much fun as people think."

"I can imagine," I added. So, Jimmy recognized Sally, but it could be worse. Did Jimmy know Sally, or did Jimmy _know_ Sally?

"What's so much greater than working on the streets is meeting famous people from your own home town," Sally said. "Like a star athlete."

"Or a talented rock star," Tammy added. Timmy blushed. "Aw, Timmeh."

"W-well, we're not really f-famous. We—" Jimmy started to say, but then he noticed the look Timmy was giving him and corrected himself. "Actually, we're qui-quite the sh-sh-shit."

"Timmeh," Timmy crooned, taking Tammy's hand and kissing it.

"Oh, go on, darling," Tammy breathed. I decided that it was time to make my exit.

"Well, I have no intention of being a fifth wheel," I announced. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"S-see you, Eric," said Jimmy. But both of them were too distracted to actually look at me.

* * *

><p>Over the next few hours, I made the arrangements to transport Juan José, Tammy, and Sally back to Mexico the next morning. I would be staying in the country for a few more days; I had some other business to take care of.<p>

As for Jimmy and Timmy, everything appeared to be going according to plan.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't forget to review. As always, your input is greatly appreciated.<strong>

**The next chapter...Accusation**


	10. Accusation

With my job done in Denver, I made my way to South Park for a visit. Despite what everyone back in Mexico may have thought, I did have some feelings for this place. I mean, I _did_ grow up here, and I couldn't wait to show them how far I had come.

The town still looked the same as it always did. The school, the church, the police station…it was all still here. Evidently, it had gone along just fine without me, and that made me mad. It made me feel less important.

Maybe, when I'm ruling the U.S., I would wipe this town off the fact of the earth. Not kill everyone, mind you, but evacuate the town, and blow it to kingdom come, just for the hell of it. That might be fun.

Suddenly, I heard a yell from behind me. I turned around and saw a homeless man, running at me and screaming. I was about to be mugged! I don't remember any of the homeless in South Park being violent, just annoying.

Remembering my sumo training, I met the hobo head-on, and knocked him away. He lay on the ground, moaning. He tried to get up, and I kicked him to make sure he'd stay down.

"Stan!" someone yelled. The Jew had just come around the corner, staring at the scene.

Stan? I looked down at the hobo, and, sure enough, underneath the ragged beard and the tattered clothes, it was Stan Marsh. He kept muttering, "Wendy…stole Wendy…"

Ouch, poor guy. Not.

To Kyle, I called out, "Keep a closer eye on your friend before he mugs someone; it's a serious crime to attack a foreign ambassador."

Kyle finally recognized who Stan was attacking. "You…? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visiting my old hometown before I head back to Mexico. I'll just be here for a few days. I was thinking about inviting you and your parents over to my house for dinner. You know, for old times' sake?"

Kyle looked like he had just swallowed live ants. "Over my dead body."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Kyle's mom (the kike bitch) and her husband were very eager to talk with me over dinner. They wanted to hear all about Ike, and how he was doing, and how soon he would be back home. Kyle sat with us, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he spent the entire evening trying to ignore the fact that the only meat I had served was ham.<p>

Later that evening, I got on my computer and went to the police database that Ike had hacked into for me. After a few minutes trying to figure out the best way to go about this next part, I began composing a forged email:

_To Sgt. Harrison Yates,_

_It has come to my attention that the Black Family, who has been living in South Park for the past fifteen years, has recently accumulated a wealth of over one million dollars. Your negligence in dealing with this matter has been tolerable up until now. But with the Black's recent rise in fortune, your inaction is no longer excusable. May I remind you of your training? May I also remind you how it will reflect of South Park's record if a wealthy black family is allowed to walk freely? I don't want South Park to get a bad reputation any more than you do. Do not contact me; I don't want to hear any excuses. You know what needs to be done._

_Sincerely,_

_The Attorney General_

That should do it.

* * *

><p>Two days later, as I was packing up to depart back to Mexico. I heard a knock at the door. It was Kyle, holding a newspaper. "Do you know anything about this?" he demanded. I seized the paper. The headline said:<p>

"_Black Family Arrested for Satanic Ritual_"

Yates, you never cease to impress me.

"Did you do this?" Kyle asked, red in the face.

"Do what? Convince them to practice black magic? Why would I do that?" I asked.

"You know that Token's family isn't Satanic! What is wrong with you!"

I shook my head. "It seems we never know most people as well as we think we do."

"Goddammit, Cartman! Is there no end to your lies?" Kyle yelled. "You planted evidence to make Token and his family look guilty!"

I yawned. "Kyle, it says here that the police found blood and rape victim DNA all over their house, along with a bunch of occult texts and drawings. There's no way I could have planted all that, even if I wanted to. Unless the police are all part of some conspiracy to put rich black men behind bars, I can't imagine how they could possibly be innocent. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You never cared about Token," Kyle snapped. Then he looked at the ground. "First Stan, then Clyde…not Token, too."

"Don't worry, Kyle," I said, skimming through the rest of the newspaper. "Accounts of prison rape are usually somewhat exaggerated." Then I found another article. "Hey, did you see this one?" I asked, handing the paper back to Kyle. He saw the title:

"_STD Afflicts Both Rock Star and Special Athlete_"

Beneath the title were pictures of Jimmy and Timmy. That's right: Syphilis! In your face, you "handi-capable" bastards!

Kyle gaped. "How…how…"

I explain. "You see, Kyle, the way someone contracts syphilis is—"

"SHUT UP, CARTMAN! You're responsible for this, too. I know it!"

I held up my hand. "Whoa, Kyle. I _assure_ you I didn't give Jimmy _or_ Timmy syphilis. If they went and slept with someone who did have it, that's no business of mine."

Kyle appeared too shocked and angry for words. He knew that I was somehow behind all this, but he had no way to prove it, and he knew he was sure to look crazy if he told anyone. The scheming, rational part of him knew that there was a reason I was telling him all this, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by blind emotions.

Kyle finally composed himself enough to say, "Someday…you're going to pay for this."

I smiled. "No. _You_ are going to pay for this."

"Me?"

"Yes. If you hadn't corrupted them with your Jewish lies, this wouldn't have happened," I explained. "It wasn't enough that you had to be evil and greedy, but you convinced your friends to follow you too, instead of embracing what was right. So when judgment day comes, just remember that _you_ were the one who led them all to their fate. And _you_ will be judged accordingly."

Then I turned and walked off, so I could make the flight back to Mexico City. And I knew that Kyle's anger was quickly turning to fear and paranoia.

* * *

><p>I returned home to a disaster. There was practically a mob in the streets, but it wasn't anything like the crowd that had cheered for us when we took power. It was a crowd calling for blood.<p>

Unlike South Park, it seemed this country really couldn't stand without me.

After talking with Wendy, I managed to figure out what had happened. Apparently, Craig's latest job had been to oversee the construction of the monument being built in our honor. It was going to be awesome, and so big that it would be visible from space.

Anyway, Craig did a very sloppy job of both designing the monument and keeping an eye on the construction. A section of it had collapsed, killing over a hundred of the workers, and also Kenny, who had been trying to patch up all the safety violations Craig had made. Now, the Mexicans were pissed at the terrible job he had done, and wanted something done about it.

While it was a tragedy, my insides jumped for joy. I had been looking for an excuse to cut Craig loose from this endeavor, and he had fucked up too big this time. Now I finally had a legitimate reason. After some consulting with Ike, Butters, and Wendy, I made my move.

That evening, the five of us stood on the balcony of our palace overseeing the city, as the crowd waited for our promised apology. I spoke:

"Loyal citizens, we have heard your pleas, and we too mourn the loss of those heroic workers, and of our beloved co-ruler, Kenny McCormick. And so we wish to apologize for our inability to prevent this tragedy."

The people quieted a little, but there were some dissatisfied murmurs spreading through the crowd. I continued.

"However, we realize that a mere apology is not enough. The only thing that can truly remedy this wrong is to see that _justice_ is done."

The crowd went completely silent, eager to hear what I had to say next. Craig's ears also perked up; he had only been told we were issuing an apology, so this would be a nice surprise for him.

"It is only right," I went on, "that the man responsible for this tragedy should face the consequences of his actions. And who is that man? _Craig Tucker._ Through his negligence, people have been killed. It's clear that he doesn't care about your wellbeing, and is therefore unworthy of being your ruler.

"But a simple removal from power is clearly not enough. If it were up to me alone, it would be only right to have him executed for such clear disregard for the sanctity of life. However, the Brotherhood has voted to show him mercy. Therefore, it is our judgment that he be banished from this country, and will be barred from entering it under pain of death or imprisonment at our discretion."

The crowd cheered. Craig's normally blank face started to look worried. He gazed out into the crowd, but they all cried out, "Banish him!" He looked back at his former co-rulers, but we had made up our minds. We would all look merciful and benevolent in the eyes of the people, and he had no sympathy to barter with. That's what happens when you don't do your part, Craig. I told you it would be difficult, but you didn't listen. Now, you have to face the music.

A helicopter arrived on the balcony, and the guards marched Craig to it. He wasn't trying to resist; he was probably still in a daze over how quickly everything had happened. As Craig was pushed into the helicopter, I called out, "Have fun in Peru!"

At the word _Peru_, Craig's face turned from mild worry and irritation into pure, stark terror. It was the most emotion I had ever seen Craig display; it was good to see that he did have _some_ feelings. The others saw it too, and they were all obviously wondering what it was about Peru that made Craig so worried.

Then the door closed on Craig forever. The helicopter flew away, taking Craig to his final destination. The crowd below celebrated, but Butters, Ike, and Wendy all looked nervous.

While Craig's banishment _was_ a good thing, there were consequences. I had broken up the Brotherhood; there were only five—no wait, four—of us left. Banishment may have been merciful for Craig, but the implications of it were not lost on the others. If six could be brought down to five—I mean, four—it was only a matter of time before someone got it into their head to get rid of the others and seize power for themselves.

I would have to stop those greedy bastards at any cost.

* * *

><p><strong>Four characters brought down in one chapter? It looks like no one is safe. Can anyone stand against Cartman?<strong>

**Don't miss the next chapter…Blackmail**


	11. Blackmail

That night, I stayed up, thinking, unable to sleep. Now that Craig was gone, the others were a little more dangerous. They could see that having one fifth of the power was better than having one sixth, and they might try to gain even more.

Of course, anyone could want power. But who was the one who would actually make the move? I weighed the options in my head.

Butters wouldn't do anything. No matter what he tried to convince everyone, he had no ambition. It was very possible that he hadn't even considered the implications of banishing Craig, and what that would mean for the rest of us. No, Butters was safe.

Kenny did have ambition, but he also knew his place. He knew he wasn't cunning enough to outthink me, nor did he have anything to gain by trying. I had never steered him wrong before; he had money, and he had women, and that was enough for him.

Wendy, of course, was both cunning and formidable. But I believed that we both had each other's best interests at heart. It was a risk, naturally, but what is politics without risk? Wendy and I were both the real leaders here anyway, so there would be no point in her betraying me. Or me betraying her, for that matter.

Which left…Ike. I had always known that Ike would prove to be the most dangerous member of the Brotherhood. He probably thought he had the brains to run everything himself. He was the youngest, and therefore the rashest, of any of us. Out of all the Brotherhood members, he was also the most distrustful of me.

But most importantly, he was still a Jew. He may not have been born that way, but thirteen years of living with the Broflovski family just couldn't be cured. And as long as he was a Jew, he couldn't be trusted to follow through with this campaign. Yes, Ike would be the one to make his move. I had no choice but to stop him.

But the even bigger issue was how to stop him. Ike had always managed to cover his tracks pretty well, and he was bound to see me coming. I wouldn't be able to outmaneuver him politically, and it wouldn't be possible to discredit him the way Craig had been; he was much too smart for that.

There was one option available: I did have some dirt on Ike that, if spread to the right people, could land him in prison. I could blackmail him. The only problem was that he probably had stuff on me that could get me in even bigger trouble, the least of which being what I had done to my friends back in South Park.

Then I got another idea…a more daring one. It was still blackmail, but it had even greater rewards for success. If this worked, then not only could I neutralize Ike at little risk to myself, but I could accelerate my timetable. Instead of building power over the course of several years, like I had originally intended, the United States could be under my control in less than a month. I quickly made the arrangements.

* * *

><p>Over the next few days, I kept a close eye on Ike while I waited for everything to fall into place. It didn't look like he was ready to try anything at the moment, which was fortunate for me. Had he done anything during that period, I would have been in no position to stop him.<p>

About a week passed. Then the FBI showed up on our doorstep. Apparently, Ike had been involved in a heist of the Smithsonian; he and several other criminals had made off with the valuable Hope Diamond, and the FBI had been trying to catch them for years. The FBI demanded that Ike be extradited to the U.S. for trial. The Brotherhood had no choice but to turn him over.

"I didn't know what I was doing," Ike cried as they carried him across the border. "They—they bribed me with chocolate!" But he wasn't fooling anyone.

Who would have thought that one of our own was a wanted criminal? And for a museum robbery, no less?

After another week, I made the call.

"_Hello?_"

"Yes, have I gotten through to President Barack Obama?" I asked.

"_Yes, you have. And who am I speaking to?_"

"Mr. President, it would be in your best interests to make sure that this conversation is not being monitored," I said. "It would not do for other people to hear what I have to say."

"_What do you mean?_"

"Trust me."

There were a few moments of silence, probably for Obama to clear the room and make sure his phone wasn't bugged. Then he came back, only he sounded a little more annoyed. "_Okay, there's no one listening. Now would mind telling me who you are?_"

"Right now, it's not who I am, but how much I know. And what I know, Mr. President, is everything."

A pause. "_What?_"

"I mean, I know all about the heist," I told him. "I know that you, along with your wife, John McCain, Sarah Palin, Ike Broflovski, and several others, stole the Hope Diamond right out of the Smithsonian."

There was a longer pause. I could practically hear Obama sweating. "_That's impossible_," he finally said.

"Not true. Ike Broflovski has already been taken into custody by the FBI. I wonder if they have any idea how far up the conspiracy _really_ goes."

"_Are you threatening me?_"

"Mr. President, please. This is not a threat; this is a negotiation."

And now the shoe has finally dropped. "_What do you want?_" Obama asked.

"It's really very simple. I want you…to surrender."

"_You want me to resign?_"

I smiled, even though Obama couldn't see me. "No, Mr. President. I want you, as the current leader of the United States, to surrender. You will turn over the country to me and my associates."

"_And what makes you think I'll do that?_" Obama snorted.

"I didn't think I'd have to spell this out for you, Mr. President. Basically, I could have you ruined, for a start."

"_Do you think you are the first person to accuse the president of a crime? Or that I am the first president to supposedly commit one?_"

"Of course not. This is where I tell you who I am. I am a member of the Brotherhood of Four, the ruling body of Mexico. Now I can tell you that, in addition to ruin for you, I can also order all of the Mexican workers and maids in the U.S. to stop working. Production and construction in the country would come to a standstill. How does that sound? If that's not enough, I can list off another dozen problems that America is having right now, and how I can use them to ensure the country's collapse. Which would inevitably be blamed on _you_."

The president hesitated.

"Come now, Mr. President," I went on, "it's not such a bad thing. My associates and I are already the rulers of a country. We have the experience to make the right decisions. Who's to say we won't make the country better? It may not be called the United States anymore, but without the conflict caused by the bureaucracy of American politics, we may be able to make some of the much needed changes you guys deserve."

Obama may be a skilled politician, but everyone had their weakness. I had him by the balls, and he knew it.

"And the best part," I said, "is that you get to have a nice retirement. With your family. And all the Tyler Perry DVD's you could want."

I heard a sigh on the other end. He had given in. America…was…_mine_.

* * *

><p>The next day, the four of us flew to the White House for our inauguration. We figured to call it another coronation would be going too far, too fast. The Mexicans were sad to see us leave to rule from a more distant location, but they really couldn't complain; we had made their country about a hundred times stronger.<p>

Needless to say, the whole thing had come off as a shock to the American public. Not only had Obama told them that he was resigning as president and retiring, but that he had surrendered control of the government to the rulers of Mexico. I could picture Kyle quaking in fear. I knew it wouldn't be easy to convince the Americans to bow to an oligarchy, no matter how benevolent we might be. Fortunately for us, there were plenty of people who just wanted Obama out of office, no matter who replaced him. And they were the ones who shouted the loudest.

Once again, it fell on me to make the speech to the people. White people are smarter than Mexicans, and like I said, Americans balked at the idea of being ruled by merely four people. So it goes without saying that trying to convince the American people to accept us as their rulers was the hardest speech I had ever made. To put it simply, I told them I wasn't a politician, and that I wouldn't act like one; I had no reason to lie to them. I explained how, with a more simply structured ruling body, the changes that this country so desperately needed could be implemented easily and efficiently. I made a list of very specific tasks that I would begin, starting tomorrow. By the time I was finished, I was out of breath, but very satisfied with the results. The crowd may not have been 100% on our side, but many of them were, and the ones who weren't were not storming the White House, at least.

We stepped back inside. Wendy and Butters dealt with the paparazzi, but Kenny motioned me into the oval office, and closed the doors. He looked at me for a long time, then asked me, "Cartman…when the fuck did this happen?"

"I told you we were going to take over the U.S., didn't I?" I reminded him.

"Oh, you kept your promise, alright," he sneered. "And all it took was throwing two of our own under the bus to do it. I mean, you helped throw a 13-year-old in prison, for God's sakes!"

"He probably won't be there long," I said. "Canada is already demanding the release of Sir Ike, so I'll let him go soon…after I make a few demands of my own. Of course, he won't be able to rule with us anymore, so he'll just go back home."

Kenny shook his head, astonished at how quickly I had capitalized on this whole situation. "And then there's Craig," he said. "By the way, what did you do to Craig, anyway? I must have missed that whole bit."

"We banished him to Peru."

Kenny gasped. Unlike Wendy, Butters, and Ike, Kenny knew full well what was waiting for Craig in the Peruvian rainforest. As did Craig.

"I suppose you left him in the middle of the jungle," he said.

"Something like that," I replied. "We thought about executing him, but decided that it would be better to show him mercy."

"You call that mercy? You might as _well_ have killed him!"

"But we didn't," I insisted. When would these guys learn? "Sure, he might _wish_ we had killed him by the time the Guinea creatures catch up with him, but the important thing is, _we_ didn't kill him, so _we're_ not responsible."

Kenny folded his arms. "By that logic, the Romans didn't kill a single Christian, and it was all the lions' fault. The point is, you knew that the Guinea creatures were in Peru, _and_ you knew that they wouldn't hesitate to get revenge on Craig for thwarting their rampage. Which means you sent him into that jungle knowing full well he wouldn't make it out alive." He sighed. "Did he really deserve that? Just for building a crappy monument?"

"Don't forget killing you," I added.

"Well, I guess—" Kenny suddenly realized what I had said. "What?"

"I said, his shoddy workmanship caused the monument to fall on you and kill you. Don't tell me you forgot about that?"

Kenny stared at me, once again reevaluating his opinion of me. He was the most moderate of my childhood friends; he didn't blindly follow me like Butters, or show constant dislike for me like Stan and Kyle. He was always somewhere in the middle, and his feelings about me and my methods changed from day to day. But this one had to be the biggest shock of all.

"How long have you known?" he demanded.

"Since we were little," I replied.

"I though no one knew," he said, more to himself than to me. "How did you find out?"

I decided to change the subject. "Why did you bring up Ike and Craig? Is it because you are having second thoughts about this endeavor? Et tu, Kenny?"

Kenny composed himself. "Not at all. I'm happy. I have all the money and women a guy can want. Ruling the United States is going to be great. But I am going to warn you, Cartman…I'm not like you. I do have limits on how far I will go, or let you go, just because it benefits me. And when you cross the line, don't count on me to back you up."

"Don't worry, I won't."

He turned to walk out the door. "Oh, and by the way," he said. "Since you already know my secret, you do realize I'm basically immortal, right? So just in case you get it into your head to send me the way of Craig or Ike, I think you'll find I'm not as easy to get rid of."

I kept smiling, right up the moment the door closed behind Kenny on his way out.

Son of a bitch!

* * *

><p><strong>Next time…Withdrawal <strong>


	12. Withdrawal

True to my word, I began work the very next day. The first thing I did was order that there be free Wi-Fi everywhere, eliminating internet dead spots. Then I pressured Netflix and other online video companies into buying out all DVD distribution companies, and completely taking over the home video market. Now everyone could stream any movie on the internet. That alone made lots of people happy (except for Obama, who didn't get the DVDs I promised him), especially when I told them they could get cash for their old movies when they turned them in.

After that, I worked on granting government support to certain companies, in the hopes of creating monopolies. Within a few days, 20th Century Fox and Warner Bros. had both become absorbed by Paramount, which became an umbrella company for the entire movie industry. Now, all the best minds in the moviemaking business were in the same place; good things were sure to happen. I did the same thing with other businesses, like the food industry. And then I was able to start working on the bigger stuff, like balancing the budget and fixing the healthcare issue.

Now, you might ask, isn't the government influencing businesses against the spirit of capitalism, which I had so dutifully upheld? Well, yes. But that was all things that could be fixed later. Right now, I wanted people to be happy, and right now, the public was thrilled at how convenient everything was, and how quickly everything was getting done. People may be wary of big government, but there's no denying that big government gets results.

In response to the Canadians' demands that Ike be freed, I informed them that I would drop the majority of Ike's charges, and reduce his sentence to one month, in return for their surrender. They considered this to be a little unfair, but once I told them I could destabilize their economy by having the whole country boycott _Terrence and Phillip_, they had little choice but to agree. It was an empty threat, I know, but they had much more to lose than I did. So Canada became the 52nd "state" (we hadn't yet decided on what to rename the U.S., so we let it stick for the moment).

And, of course, I sent Bebe some of the shoes I had promised her.

With the population appeased. I turned my attention to Kyle's last two followers in South Park: the hyper-caffeinated Tweek Tweak, and the Star Wars loving Kevin Stoley. My vengeance was nearly complete.

Now that I and the rest of the Brotherhood were ruling the United States, I was in a much better position to deal with my former friends. I didn't even have to resort to underhanded tactics anymore; I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I could even declare Judaism to be illegal (but I wouldn't do that yet; Kyle deserved better).

But anyway, I thought about how I could deal with Kevin and Tweek. Well…Kevin always watches Star Wars, and Tweek always drinks coffee. So I decided to try a little experiment; let's see how well each of them deal with a little…shift in their routine.

Since all the coffee was now distributed under the Starbucks brand, I informed their CEO to not make any shipments to South Park for a little while. Then, I decreed that Star Wars would be unavailable to watch on Netflix for four weeks, in honor of "Star Trek Month." There was some public irritation about this, to which I replied. "I'm your ruler. Humor me."

True to form, it turned out that Kevin had not turned in his Star Wars DVDs, so I sent the police in to confiscate them, and give the Stoleys their trade-in fee, reminding them that the DVDs were now illegal. Kevin had not taken that well.

Having been so productive in my first few days as ruler, I decided to embark on a tour of my new empire. I invited Wendy to come along, since we hadn't really done anything romantic since we had begun ruling Mexico. So Wendy and I went to tour the country, leaving Kenny and Butters to keep an eye on things while we were gone.

Over the next few days, we visited Mount Rushmore, Niagara Falls, Las Vegas, and various other scenic locations. Most of them were romantic locations, but if not, we _made_ them romantic (if you know what I mean). Especially the Grand Canyon; that was a good one.

The last stop on our trip was South Park itself. It seemed only fitting to grace our old neighbors with our presence (and to see how Kevin and Tweek were doing, of course). We had left as children. Now, we had returned as conquerors. The whole town hosted a huge parade in our honor. Wendy and I shook more hands that day than we had ever shaken in our lives. Plenty of people, most of all Mr. Garrison and Mayor McDaniels, tried to suck up to us and say they'd always known we were destined for greatness, and other such bullshit. One thing of note: Kyle was nowhere to be seen during the whole celebration. As the parade passed the Broflovski house, I glimpsed the Jew in the window, cowering from me, having finally recognized how thoroughly he had lost. Don't worry, Kyle; you still have some time before I break you completely. Enjoy it while you can.

In between rounds of sex, Wendy and I took a coffee break at the local Starbucks (formerly Tweak's Coffee). Although we both had hot chocolate, since there was no coffee to be found anywhere in South Park.

"It's so strange to be back here," Wendy admitted. "Especially with everyone looking at me with so much respect. It's…it's…"

"Awesome?" I suggested.

She smiled. "Exactly." Then, to drive the point home, she called out, "Waiter! More hot chocolate!" Tweek, who was working this shift, came over and took her cup. He looked pale and tired, like he was having trouble staying awake. I had never seen the jittery guy like that before.

"Although, Eric, I'm not sure why you decided to end our romantic getaway here," she said, getting back to our conversation. "After all, this was the town my ex-boyfriend cheated on me in."

"This town has potential for great memories," I said. "But you have to look to the future, not the past."

"That's a reassuring thought, Eric. But I'm not sure how even sex can make me think of this town as romantic anymore."

"Well, Wendy, there's more to romance than just sex," I reminded her.

She grinned. "Oh really? What did you have in mind?"

And in a move I had rehearsed countless times in the mirror, I reached into my pocket and got down on one knee. Wendy realized what was coming, and gasped.

"This," I began. "From the moment I first kissed you, I knew that we were destined to be together forever. I love you, and I want us to follow our destiny. Through thick and thin, joy and sorrow, glory and despair, I want you to be by my side."

Wendy was definitely excited, but I could tell that there was something on her mind. I guessed she was wondering why I had made this move now. We were already practically married; there was no doubt we would remain faithful to each other for the rest of our lives. What was there to be gained by making it official?

I gave her the answer. "Wendy Testaburger," I asked, pulling the diamond ring out of my pocket, "will you marry me, and become the queen of my new empire?"

Wendy had known from the beginning that we both longed to rule the world ourselves, and not share it with anyone. If we were forever united as one, than we were already the effective rulers of the country, making up two fourths of the Brotherhood. Literally nothing could be done without our approval, and although Butters and Kenny could unite in opposition of us, there was nothing they could really do to stop us.

Wendy understood the significance of my gesture. "I will," she answered, smiling.

Then, God sent us a sign of good fortune. Tweek stumbled into the room, carrying Wendy's hot chocolate. "Can't…go…on…much…longer…" he gasped. Then, he fainted, spilling the hot chocolate all over the floor and himself.

"I'm not paying for that," I informed the manager, pointing to the spill as the employees called 911.

* * *

><p>Tweek was taken to the hospital. The doctors spent several hours examining him before giving the news to his family. As a concerned ruler, I was present as well.<p>

It turned out that Tweek was in caffeine withdrawal. That much was obvious just from seeing him in Starbuck's, but I had not pictured it being this bad. Tweek's parents always gave him coffee, so he always got back on his caffeine high before it could wear off. He had literally had caffeine in his system nonstop for over ten years; after three days of being unable to drink coffee, it had finally all been flushed out…and caused every organ in his body to shut down. Tweek had crashed so hard that he was in a coma, and was unlikely to come out of it for a long time.

Even pumping pure caffeine into his system wouldn't do any good, the doctors told us. They would just have to wait until his body adjusted to normal, and that could take years.

Drat. I had predicted Kevin would break first.

* * *

><p>It turned out I was pretty close. The next day, Kevin Stoley was caught buying a black market DVD player and a copy of <em>Star Wars Episode III<em>. Needless to say, I told the police that I would handle his disciplinary action.

"You couldn't even wait until the end of Star Trek month?" I asked him. "Tsk tsk tsk."

Kevin struggled against the restraints on his wrists. "I…needed…Star Wars."

"I can see that," I said. "And this whole incident has taught me that perhaps I am a little too controlling. Therefore, I'm going to make DVDs legal again. Dealing with all the crime that they cause is too much of a headache."

Kevin's eyes brightened. "So…I'm okay?"

"Oh no," I informed him. "As wrong as I may have been, it doesn't change the fact that you broke the law. And lawbreakers must be punished."

Kevin shook with fear.

"However," I went on, "it wouldn't be right for me to punish you. Clearly, you need treatment, not a fine or a prison sentence."

"Treatment?" Kevin asked. He seemed to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

"Yes. You're obviously suffering from an unhealthy addiction. We need to take care of that. I don't know if you heard, but Tweek's coffee addiction finally caught up with him. And trust me, you don't want that to happen to you."

I snapped my fingers. The two guards brought the device into the room. Despite Kevin's protests, they immobilized his head and pried his eyes open, to make sure he wouldn't look away from the TV monitor in front of him. "What are you going to do?" Kevin wailed.

I slid a copy of _Star Trek: The Motion Pictur_e into the DVD player. "We're going to start your therapy immediately."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

><p><strong>Just in apology, I'm not extremely pleased with the quality of this chapter: Kevin Stoley was a last-minute addition to this story, and although I like his punishment, this chapter got bogged down trying to get to it. Also, some of the characterization here feels like a bit of an awkward fit. The next few chapters will be much better, I promise.<strong>

**Only a few "good guys" left...please leave a review, for their sake. They want to know they're not alone.**

**Next up…Nightmare**


	13. Nightmare

Wendy Testaburger and I were married on Christmas Day of that year, in the best ceremony that there ever was. Bigger than those royal weddings they have in England, anyway. Butters cheered for us, but Kenny frowned. He knew that Wendy and I were in an ideal position to take all the power for ourselves.

But right now, I had bigger problems than Kenny. I had promised the former Canadian government that I would release Ike Broflovski after one month, and the month was up on New Year's Day. While I did want Kyle to have some awareness of what I was doing, I didn't want him to have any proof, or any witnesses, of what I had done. That included Ike; I had to release him, but I had to keep him from opening his mouth.

Fortunately, I had a plan.

* * *

><p>Butters stepped out of the car. "So, where are we, Eric?"<p>

"We're about to go on an adventure, Butters," I said. "Don't you like adventures?"

"Oh yeah!" he said. Then, suddenly unsure, he added, "At least, until they start getting unpleasant…"

"Don't worry, Butters. You'll be in familiar territory," I assured him.

We entered the building, and Butters immediately recognized where we were. "This is…"

"Yep," I said. "The headquarters of Project Imagination Doorway. The gateway to Imaginationland."

"Wow…" Butters gasped. "So, are we going to see Aslan and Morpheus and Santa Claus again?"

"Not exactly, Butters. In fact, we're not really going to Imaginationland." I motioned him toward the scientist in the room. "This is Dr. Chinstrap; he's an expert in psychology, and a hoarding specialist on the side. He's made some modifications to this machine," I said, pointing at the gateway.

Butters was confused. "Huh?"

I grinned. "Butters…what if I were to tell you that we've discovered a way to enter into people's minds? A way for us to ensure that there will be no threat to our authoritah, ever?"

Butters was at a loss for words, so I continued. "This gateway no longer leads to Imaginationland, per se. Instead, it leads to a network of minds. All minds are connected in some way. Imaginationland contains people and places that come from the minds of every living being. In the land beyond this new gateway—call it Mindworld—there's a way _back_ into the original minds. So someone can go through that portal, and see someone's innermost thoughts. Not only that, but he can manipulate them."

Butters was starting to follow. "So, it's kind of like that movie, _Inception_?"

"That's exactly right, Butters," I said, handing him a radio. "Take this walkie-talkie; we have a job to do."

"What's that?"

"I need you to go in there, find Ike's brain, and…take a few things out."

"Like what?"

"Don't worry," I told him. "I'll tell you when you get in there."

"Why do I have to do it?"

I sighed. "Because you're the one who is more familiar with Imaginationland, which this is like. Now come on; we don't have all day!"

"Oh. Okay, then," he whimpered, accepting the walkie-talkie. With some trepidation, he walked up to the portal, and then stepped through. After a few seconds, I spoke into the radio: "Butters, can you hear me?"

"_Yeah._"

Now, for a little test. I turned the radio off. "Butters?"

"_Yes, Eric, I can hear you._"

Ah, so being in the mind network allowed him to hear me speak even without the radio. I was probably projecting my thoughts directly at him. "We actually don't need the microphone, Butters."

"_Oh._"

"Okay, now see if you can find a way to Ike's mind."

Butters spent a few minutes talking about how Mindworld was laid out, and babbling cheerfully about how amazing it was. I filed away anything that might be important, but mostly, I ignored him. What a dork. Finally, he said, "_I think I found it, Eric._"

Good. Time for another test. In my head, I pictured a snake, and gave it some simple instructions.

"_Ow!_"

"What was that, Butters?" I called out.

"_Something just bit me. I think—oh, geez, it's a snake!_" Butters shrieked.

"A snake?" I feigned ignorance. "What's it doing now?"

"_Well, it looks like it's trying to tear up some of the books that are lying around here, but it can't. Eric, I'm scared; I don't like snakes!_"

"What do you mean, it can't?"

"_Well, Eric," _Butters said, sounding puzzled,_ "every time it tries to rip up a book, it just passes through them, like it's a ghost._"

"A ghost?" I said. "But it bit you, didn't it?"

"_Yeah,_" he replied. "_It doesn't make any sense._"

Oh, but it did. If I directed my concentration, I could effectively interact with Butter in Mindworld. However, it also seemed that I couldn't directly interfere with someone else's mind. That made sense. Anyone on the outside could interact with Butters, but not with each other. That had all sorts of possibilities.

"Don't worry about it, Butters," I said, mentally ordering the snake to leave. "I need you to find where Ike stores his knowledge." Then, being careful to not think at Butters, I turned to Dr. Chinstrap and said, "Shut the machine down."

"But—"

"Do it!"

Dr. Chinstrap pressed a few buttons, and the gateway closed. Then I walked over to the controls and pulled some of the circuits out. Now Butters couldn't leave without my say so.

"_I found it_," Butters said. "_Now what?_"

"Now I need you to be very cautious, Butters," I said. "If you mess around too much, Ike might figure out you're in there. I need you to find the specific information about what the Brotherhood has done, and any speculations he might have about what we're planning. Once you've found that, carefully find some way to remove it."

"_What for?_" he asked.

I slapped my forehead. Butters, you sure are an idiot. "If Ike goes back to his home, knowing what he knows, he'll be able to tell Kyle everything. I would prefer that our dealings not be known, and I can't have Ike blabbing to the world, now can I?"

"_Well, I guess not._" Catching on quickly, aren't you Butters?

"Now, get started," I ordered. "And if you have any questions, let me know, and I'll try to talk you through it."

* * *

><p>The actual process of looting Ike's brain took about two hours. The way Butters described it, it sounded like Ike's brain was like a library, and that the "books on the shelves" were where all the information was kept. Butters had to take the books off the shelf, one at a time. Meanwhile, one of the guards whom I had ordered to closely observe Ike told me that his eyes were becoming unfocused, and he looked confused. Both of those were signs that this was working.<p>

After Butters had removed all the necessary information, I decided to take it a little further, and told him to do some more damage. Instead of just taking books, Butters started knocking over the bookshelves with surprising enthusiasm, and Ike's IQ began dropping by the minute. By the time I let Butters stop, Ike was in no shape to spill the beans to Kyle. Or do much of anything else, for that matter.

"_Are we done, Eric? I—_" Butters started, but suddenly he broke off. "_Hey, the portal's gone. C-could you let me out of here?_"

"I'm afraid not, Butters," I said.

"_W-what do you mean?_" He sounded scared, proving that even after ten years of my guidance, he was still a wimp.

"Think about it, Butters!" I went on. "If you stay in there, then I have access to the minds of every person in the world. I would be reading their thoughts, and keeping them loyal. Dominion over the world would not only be possible, it would be guaranteed."

"_So…I can't leave?_"

I sighed. "No, you can't. Don't you want to help me create my perfect world?"

"_Well, sure, but…I don't want to live in this place forever._"

"Butters, sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good," I reminded him.

Butters was silent for a long time. It was just like the pause he had made before telling off his parents, just before our first coronation. I knew it that he was getting ready to tell me something I didn't want to hear.

"_Eric…I was talking with Kenny…_"

Here we go.

"…_and he told me what you did to the others._" Butters took a deep breath. "_How could you turn on your friends like that?_"

"They weren't my friends," I explained. "They betrayed me first."

"_Well, they were _my_ friends,_" Butters said, his confidence building, "_and I don't want to hurt them. And if this whole thing is just an excuse to make innocent people suffer, then I don't want to be a part of it. So, y-you can just go and rule the world by yourself, because I'm not going to help you anymore._"

Oh, Butters….why couldn't you learn? Why couldn't you just do what you knew to be right, instead of being so selfish? You don't know how much I believed in you. You could have been great. You had the most potential; you followed orders without question, and you were a natural leader, because everyone felt like they could trust you. I wish I could. But now I can see that the Jews got to you first. Now, you'll never follow me willingly.

But you _will_ follow me. One way or another.

"_S-so you let me out of here, right now,_" Butters demanded, trying to intimidate me. He should have known better.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Butters," I said. "I didn't want to force you, but you've left me no choice."

Then I closed my eyes, and concentrated. When I concentrated this hard, I could actually see Butters in the Mindworld, shouting in defiance, but hoping that I would have mercy on him. So I thought, and I imagined. I called forth every kind of monster, and every kind of horror that I could conjure. I have a vivid imagination, and no matter how confident Butters might be,_ I_ was in control here. He would never be able to get past my mental safeguards, and he was at the complete mercy of my thoughts.

Butters did the only thing he could be expected to do. He screamed. And in that scream, I knew that he had realized that being trapped in my mind was the worst punishment he could possibly imagine.

But I wasn't going to rely on his fear of my thoughts alone. The largest nightmare rose up, and struck him in the gut. He doubled over in pain, realizing that there was more to be worried about than being frightened. I pressed the point harder. The monsters that I had created beat him again and again, until he finally squealed, "_That's enough! Stop! STOP!_" Then he began sobbing uncontrollably, and I knew that he was broken. One of the monsters kicked him again for good measure.

I knelt down, mentally projecting my image so that I appeared to Butters as a giant. I could practically see Butters myself, cowering in terror, waiting for me to pass judgment on him.

"Now," I smiled, "did we learn our lesson?"

"_Y-y-y-y-yes…_"

"And what lesson is that?" I asked.

"_Th-that I n-need to th-think about the gr-greater g-good,_" he sobbed.

"Exactly," I said. "The greater good is more important than any of us. Even you. Even me." But especially you. "And in the interest of defending the greater good, you should…?"

Butters thought about it before answering. "_I sh-should…l-l-listen to y-you…_"

"And why?"

"_B-because…_" Butters said, hanging his head, "_y-you kn-know b-best._"

Never forget that.

"Now," I told Butters, "since you tried to place your own good above that of others, I have no choice but to remove you from the Brotherhood. What was once six is now only three. But don't worry, you'll still be able to do your part. You're going to stay in here, and watch Kenny's thoughts like a hawk. He worries me, and I want to know the instant he tries pulling a fast one."

"_Okay,_" Butters sniffed. I considered reminding him that if he put one toe out of line, I would sic the nightmares on him again, but I decided against it; I had already made myself clear enough.

Then a thought occurred to me. Should I have him watch Wendy, too? No, of course not. She's my wife; I can trust her.

Or can I? They say, after all, that love is blind. I do love Wendy, and I mean that. But I have the important job of improving this world, and I couldn't allow myself to ignore someone who might be a potential threat, just because I loved her. I don't believe that Wendy would betray me, but I can't let my trust in Wendy overcome my caution. There's too much at stake.

"And also keep an eye on Wendy, too, while you're at it," I told Butters. He didn't object, but then, why should he? He had learned his lesson, and he knew as well as I did that you can never be too careful.

* * *

><p><strong>Can Cartman trust anyone?<strong>

**Next time…Damnation.**


	14. Damnation

Having an agent in Mindworld had proved incredibly helpful. Needless to say, I had used Butters to wipe the memories of both Dr. Chinstrap and Ike's guard, so that the details of my secret weapon stayed secret. I was now the only person who knew of the existence of Mindworld (except for Butters, of course); not even Wendy knew. We were able to release Ike without any trouble.

In addition to watching Kenny and Wendy, Butters also spent some time observing various world leaders. From his reports, I began filing away any information that would be useful for either blackmail or annexation of every other world nation. Butters also reported that the general U.S. public was fairly pleased with their new leadership; while they were not really enthusiastic about a non-democratic government, they did appreciate the efficiency of our work.

Frankly, I was at a loss as to how I could deal with Kenny. The curse that kept him from dying was ultimately a big problem. No matter what physical punishment I could inflict on him, he could easily kill himself, and erase it. Imprisoning him might work, but one slip up, and he could kill himself and escape. Traumatization was also out of the question; since he had literally been to Hell and back, there wasn't much more I could do to him. Even having Butters alter his memory was risky; there was no way of telling if any damage we did to his memory would reset when he died. I longed to test something that might work, but I couldn't afford to risk it.

In the meantime, Kenny had grown more and more restless. He had been fairly cooperative and pleasant throughout this entire operation. But ever since our talk, right after the inauguration, he had become more snappy and irritable. He questioned my judgment constantly, and he was quick to make snide remarks at my expense. And ever since our numbers had reduced to three, it had gotten even worse; clearly, Kenny wasn't taking well to being outnumbered.

Since I didn't have a plan for dealing with Kenny at the moment, the best thing to do was to try to keep him happy and occupied. So the two of us took a tourist trip to New York City, for some bonding. Very friendly, very informal, and _very_ platonic. The guy was so distrustful of me that he insisted on being the one to drive. Did he really think I was going to lure him to some remote location and kill him? What good would that do?

* * *

><p>Coney Island turned out to be a great idea. The longer we stayed there, the more Kenny loosened up. Going to a fair was something that Kenny had never been able to properly do as a kid, being as poor as he was. Sure he had gone to fairs, but he had never had enough money to enjoy himself as much as one should. And even though we had all the money we needed, he enjoyed being there in a capacity other than a ruler: a commoner for a day. Personally, I didn't see the appeal, but keeping Kenny happy was in my best interests, so I went along with it.<p>

We were at Coney Island for several hours before Kenny suggested we drive up to Manhattan to get some shopping and sightseeing done. On the way there, we were talking and laughing just like the two old friends that we were, without a care in the world. We were both legitimately enjoying ourselves.

"How about grabbing a bite to eat downtown?" I suggested.

"Are you kidding?" Kenny laughed. "You just had like five of those funnel cakes! You can't possibly still be hungry!"

"I don't want to be an anorexic," I said. "Besides, it was only four funnel cakes."

"I guess even four can't fill your fat ass," he said. I started to correct him, but he interrupted, "I know, I know. Big boned." He paused. "They were good funnel cakes," he admitted.

"They were great," I said. "Better than any funnel cakes at any fair in South Park. I guess everything is better in New York."

"Don't forget bigger," Kenny added. "Did you see that giant Ferris Wheel?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "That thing was at least twice as big as anything we had back home."

"It sure was," Kenny agreed. Then a strange look came to his eyes, like his mind was far away. "Butters would have loved to ride that Ferris Wheel."

Gulp. "Eyes on the road, Ken," I said. I averted my gaze, but noticed his fingers tightening on the wheel. His knuckles were white.

And the day had been going so well, too.

"I don't suppose there would be any point in asking where Butters is, would there?" Kenny asked.

"Not really."

Another awkward pause. "So," Kenny began, a touch of cruel sarcasm creeping into his voice, "should I be flattered? That you've saved me for last?"

"Wendy's still here," I reminded him. And also Kyle.

He ignored me. "On the one hand, it could be a sign that you trust me. But then, you could trust Butters even more; he was so blindly loyal to you, while I threatened to abandon you outright. And now Butters is gone; only God knows where. I can only imagine what you would do to a traitor like me"

I thought at Butters hard, "What's Kenny doing?" But Butters couldn't offer anything helpful.

"On the other hand," Kenny went on, "you always did have an air for the dramatic. After all, you haven't done anything to Kyle, your "greatest foe," except turn his best friend into a drunk and his brother into a vegetable. You've still got something planned for him. Something big. And since I'm the only other one left, I can only assume you've got something big planned for me, too."

It had only now just occurred to me how vulnerable I was. There was no way I could harm Kenny, but he was holding my very survival in his hands.

"So…which is it?" he asked. "Am I still here because you trust me slightly more than the others? Or is it because I am your grand finale?" Kenny laughed, and something in that laugh was unhinged. He was losing it.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter," he continued. "Either way, I get metaphorically thrown into the river. Like this river." He gestured out the window, as we started to cross the Brooklyn Bridge.

"BUTTERS!" I thought.

Butters shouted, "_Watch out!_" but by then, I didn't need his warning. Kenny looked at me, and I saw pure, cold, murder in his eyes.

"Tell you what, Cartman," he said, slowly and deliberately. "In the interest of the 'greater good' you go on so much about, why don't I save you the trouble of justifying this to yourself?"

Kenny shoved the steering wheel to the right, hard. I tried to wrestle for control of the vehicle, but it was no use; his grip was like iron. The car swerved, skidded, and then crashed through the barrier on the side of the bridge. We sailed out over the river. Then gravity took over, and we plummeted downwards.

At this height, we would never survive the impact. Not that that mattered to Kenny. He just leaned back in his seat, and waited patiently for death.

No. I can't fail. It can't end like thi—

* * *

><p>Black.<p>

Then white.

Then everything came into focus. Kenny and I were both standing in total nothingness. He was just looking around, like he was bored. Then again, this had already happened to him several times. If I had to guess, I would say this was Limbo, or something similar.

Which meant I was dead. Which meant my plans to improve the world were in ruins.

I grabbed Kenny by the collar and shook him violently. "You fucking idiot!" I yelled. "Do you have any idea what you _done_?"

Kenny was unfazed. "Yes. I've saved the world from you." He sighed. "It's a satisfying feeling."

I hated that bastard. I wanted to kill him. But we were already dead. However, my death would be permanent, while he would soon be walking amongst the living, unpunished for his crime. What kind of justice was that?

A bright flash interrupted our fight. A fiery doorway opened, and a man dressed all in black stepped through. An upside-down cross hung from a chain around his neck. It was Damien Thorn, who was the son of Satan, the Antichrist, and a former classmate of ours.

"'Sup, Damien," Kenny nodded. While I was understandably a little more scared to see Damien here now, I couldn't say I was really surprised.

"Well, well, well," Damien said. "Looks like you two had a little accident."

"Nope," said Kenny, without any hint of remorse.

Damien sighed, "Kenny, what have we told you about actually killing people? That's gonna be a few hours in Hell. Now, go get your fine paid, so you can be on your way."

"Thanks," Kenny said. He started to walk away.

"Wait!" I demanded, grabbing Damien's arm. "What about me?"

Damien wasn't an easy person to intimidate. "You," he said, grinning, "are screwed."

Kenny looked over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Cartman. Maybe I'll stop and visit you from time to time," he laughed. "In Hell."

Hell? HELL? Oh, fuck no!

I looked into Damien's flaming eyes. "This wasn't how it was supposed to happen."

That got Kenny's attention. He turned around and looked expectantly at us, but Damien knew what I was talking about.

"You failed," he snapped, frowning.

"But I wasn't supposed to fail," I reminded him. "Weren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on things?"

"Kenny was…an unexpected variable," Damien explained.

Kenny finally figured it out. "You two were in league with each other?" He looked at me. "Is that how you were able to gain so much power in the first place?"

"Sort of," I told him. "I did come up with the entire plan; Damien just gave a few pointers here and there. You know, a little supernatural insight. Mostly, it was just him keeping me from making a stupid mistake." Which I didn't really need.

"So you made a deal with the devil to rule the world," said Kenny. I nodded. Kenny thought about that. "You know," he said, "that actually makes a lot of sense."

"The idea was that, once the world was united, Satan and Damien could have it after I was finished," I said. "But, of course, that whole arrangement is ruined now." I glared at Damien. "Your dad is not going to be happy."

"He'll deal with it," Damien said. "He knew there could be setbacks."

"But he _really_ won't be happy with _this_ setback," I warned him, pointing at Kenny. "Or with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damien asked. There was a slight quiver in his voice now.

"It means I know your dirty little secret," I said. "That Kenny—"

"Sh!" Damien hissed, now looking panicked. "Keep your voice down!"

Smiling, I whispered. "That Kenny is immortal because you made him that way. You wanted to have a friend who was comfortable being in Hell, so you made Kenny immortal, so that he would be in Hell only for short visits, instead of spending all his time being tortured." It was already standard practice to have dirt on anyone I did business with, so why should a supernatural partner be any different?

"But, of course, your dad wouldn't have allowed this, so you did it in secret. And because Kenny is no mere mortal, his actions can't be predicted the same way everyone else's can. I wonder how he would react to finding out that his plans for world domination were thwarted by Kenny, whose interference _you_ made possible."

The look of horror on Damien's otherwise stoic face was priceless. Was everyone really this easy to manipulate? Silly Antichrist: Eric Cartman doesn't make deals with the devil; _the devil makes deals with Eric Cartman!_

Kenny was shocked. "How do you know all that? I didn't even know that!" He looked at Damien. "_You_ gave me my curse?"

Damien nodded solemnly. No doubt he was curious as to how I knew as well, but he knew I wouldn't tell him (by the way, thanks, Butters!).

Then he hung his head. "What do you want, Eric? In exchange for not telling my dad?"

Hmm…what did I want? "Well, for starters, I want to live again."

"Done."

Then a thought occurred to me. "I also want you to take away Kenny's immortality and give it to me."

Kenny gasped, and Damien frowned. "Don't you think you're asking a little much?"

"No," I replied. "You're still keeping one of us, and sending the immortal one on his way. In exchange for your dad not punishing you, I don't think that's too much to ask."

Damien thought about it. His contemplation was a show; he really had no better option. "Deal," he agreed. Kenny shouted in protest, but two demons appeared and restrained him. "Just one question," Damien said, ignoring Kenny. "How did you know? I thought everyone's memory was erased with each death."

I considered it. "Well, he's my best friend," I replied. "A real friend doesn't forget something like that. So while Kyle and Stan would cry at the heavens, I simply held on to the moment. And when their memory faded, I remembered, and mourned him on the inside. Every time."

I looked at Kenny. "It's a shame it had to come to this. We could have ruled the world together. Me, with my wife on my right, and my best friend on my left. But he has fallen away from the true path, and he will never allow the world to rise under its proper leadership. A truly tragic loss."

Damien nodded. The fiery gateway reopened, and the Antichrist disappeared into it. The demons pulled my friend through it, and into the depths of eternal torment. I'll miss him.

"Don't worry, Kenny," I called after him. "Maybe I'll visit _you_ in Hell."

I could feel myself slipping away from Limbo. The last thing I saw there was a bright flash as the gateway closed, and the last thing I heard there was the echo of Kenny's unending screams.

* * *

><p>I reappeared on the Brooklyn Bridge. I could see the police and the fire department surveying the damage from our crash. The crash that had killed us. But I was still alive.<p>

Thanks to Damien, I would soon have every person in the world under my control.

Thanks to Butters, I would be able to keep them under my control.

And now, thanks to Kenny, I would never die again.

I…

…am…

…GOD!

* * *

><p><strong>And this...<strong>

**...is...**

**bad.**

**And now, the only one left is the Jew. Next time...Psycho  
><strong>


	15. Psycho

**Presenting the most f**ked up installment of Cartman vs. Kyle ever written…**_**Cartman Rising**_**, Chapter 15: Psycho**

* * *

><p>I arrived back in Washington D.C. in no time. Wendy was waiting for me.<p>

"How did your trip to Coney Island go?" she asked, kissing me. Then she noticed how many people had come back. "Where's Kenny?"

"We wrecked our car on the Brooklyn Bridge," I told her. "Kenny didn't survive."

"Oh no!" Wendy cried. "That's terrible!" I wanted to tell her about the good that had come of his permanent death, but she, like so many others, was not aware of his unique inability to stay dead for very long, and so she wouldn't understand.

"Yes, it is," I said. "It's just us, now." There was a brief spark of fear in her eyes, but it passed almost instantly.

I was a little concerned that her fear might be the beginnings of disloyalty. Should I kill her? Or at least marginalize her, like I did Butters? After all, I was so powerful, I didn't really need her anymore.

No, I was still fond of her. Not to mention that she owed me; I had saved her from her negligent ex-boyfriend, and given him what he deserved. And even if all that were not the case, it wasn't like I had anything to fear from her. I was immortal, and I could read her mind. Besides, she was still smart, and she could give valuable advice for ruling the world.

And speaking of the world, I was now determined that Damien and Satan would never get their hands on it. They were originally going to get the world when I died, but now that would never happen, so the world was safe. Which was good, because even though I had made the deal with them in the first place, I had been more than a little wary of them in charge, so I had been waiting for an opportunity to safely renege on the whole arrangement.

And thus, I began. I contacted kings, queens, emperors, and presidents all over the world, and stated my demands. Some saw the futility of their position immediately. Others had to be threatened a little; after all, I now had control of the most powerful nation on earth, and the most nukes. Those that still refused to cooperate got the special treatment; Butters went in and crossed enough wires in their heads to make them do handstands and they signed away their countries with smiles on their faces.

Of course, this didn't all happen overnight. Negotiations took time, and I was in negotiations with practically every country in the world. Still, I was making progress; more countries surrendered every day. After a few weeks, I had control over the entire Western Hemisphere, as well as several countries in Africa and Northern Europe. Even England and China were weakening. Not even the Romans had built their empire this quickly!

One country, however, was proving somewhat difficult. The entire nation of Israel simply refused to bow to me. Every time I brainwashed one of their leaders, he was either assassinated or otherwise removed from power before he could hand over control to me.

Wendy saw what was going on in Israel, and, in an act of unforgivable mercy, told me I had to stop. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Why? They can't remain independent from our empire. They're just going to have to get used to the idea of being ruled by us," I said.

"I know," Wendy said. "But we need to find another way. They'll all die if this keeps up."

"If that's the way they want it, that's the way they'll get it," I said. "And since when did you care about Jews?"

"I care about people," Wendy snapped. "We _are_ doing this for the good of the people, aren't we?"

"Ruling the world means having guts. Whatever happened to being ruthless?"

"Being determined doesn't mean I enjoy watching innocent people suffer," Wendy said. "And I won't allow this to continue any longer."

It was just like Kenny. Did anyone understand the concept of sacrifice, other than me? Did she think I enjoyed watching innocent people suffer? No, just enemies. Sometimes, you had to abandon your principles to reach a better future. Sometimes, you had to make sacrifices for the greater good.

Well, I couldn't let her ruin what I had worked so hard to create.

"I think it's about time that only one of us made the decisions around here," I told her.

The Brotherhood was officially dissolved.

"Just like that?" she said. She started to walk away, then turned around and said, "I thought you had changed, Cartman. I thought that you might have actually been trying to do some good in the world. I can't believe I thought you cared about anyone."

Well, how do you like that? I'm such a great guy to her, and she goes and insults me. But I'm a forgiving person; I know that she's just upset, and that she won't take it too seriously. By tomorrow, she'll be just fine.

However, the whole situation with Israel had reminded me of something. I had one more personal enemy left to deal with: the no-good, backstabbing, ginger Jersey Jew-rat, Kyle Broflovski. The one who was responsible for this whole mess. The one who had corrupted all my friends, and turned them to the ways of evil.

I decided that it was time to send the package.

* * *

><p>As I said before, punishment is all about subtlety. The traitors had all been attacked with precision, right where they were most proud, and most weak. The self-conscious Clyde's popularity had taken a dive, the intelligent Ike's mind had gone down the drain, and so forth.<p>

With Kyle, however, such tactics were almost useless. He was a rational thinker, meaning that it would have been impossible to lay any obvious traps for him. He had a temper, but he knew when to calm it, so I couldn't rely on his anger alone. Because of that, his punishment, out of all the traps and sneak attacks I had carried out, was the most carefully prepared and also the most simply executed.

That was why I had given him hints about my plan; I couldn't sneak anything past him, so I might as well pursue him out in the open. The purpose of the whole exercise was to scare him. Fear would make him irrational, and that would bring his defenses down. My promise that I had something special planned for him, after seeing what happened to Stan and the others, had left him unnerved and shaken. Doubtless, he had spent several weeks looking over his shoulder wherever he went, and jumping at the slightest sound. When I told him that it was his fault that this was happening, his careful calculations and Jew logic had left him unable to think straight. If he had a better grasp on real ethics, then he would have known, as I do, that the only justice is the justice you make for yourself. But his eternal optimism convinced him that evildoers were always punished, and the discovery of his role as the evildoer, then, would convince him that his own punishment was fated, and was appropriately swift, painful, and inescapable.

In short, I had him all rigged up, like one of those booby-trapped pianos in those Looney Tunes cartoons. It was a simple, and yet complex and brilliant piece of work. Now, all I had to do was _press_ the right key. That's where the package came in.

I wrapped the package up all nice and pretty, then sent it to Kyle's home address. Then, I talked with Butters, and arranged a way for me to see through Mindworld, and be able to watch my plan unfold firsthand, through Kyle's own eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Kyle sat in his living room, cutting up his apple. He looked at the knife warily, as if concerned that it would stab him of its own accord. It did not, however, leaving him free to continue about his business.<em>

_On the other hand, the knife was a defense against the outside. The outside was dangerous, for that was where Cartman lay in wait. Maybe, here, he would be safe, but if the outside ever came in, he could use the knife to protect himself. No matter when his time would come, he would be ready for it. Let it never be said that Kyle Broflovski gave up without a fight._

_Unfortunately, Stan couldn't be safe in here with him, for that would mean going outside to look for him, and that was death. Besides, he already had to take care of Ike, and family came first. Stan would just have to wait. And anyway, Stan had already been swallowed up; he was safe from this new threat. _

_Unless the outside would punish Kyle by punishing Stan further…_

_Kyle took several deep breaths. He had to calm down. He couldn't go on like this. Cartman couldn't possibly—_

_A doorbell ring jolted him back into the terror. Who was that? Had Cartman come at last?_

"_Kyle, would you get that, bubbe?" his mom asked. She didn't understand._

"_No, mother," he stuttered, shaking. Then he didn't say another word; he was sure whoever was outside could hear him._

_After a few moments, his mother went to the door in exasperation. "Kyle, dear, it was just the postman. You have a package. Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you lately."_

_A package? "Who is it from?" he asked._

_His mother checked. "Hmm, it doesn't say. Here, why don't you open it?"_

"_No way!" he yelled. Didn't she understand? No more mysteries. That was how the outside hunted. Curiosity killed the cat. "It…might be a bomb!"_

"_A bomb?" his mother scoffed. "I've just about had it with you, Kyle. This kind of reclusiveness can't be good for your health. First thing tomorrow, I'm scheduling an appointment for you with the psychiatrist." She smiled sweetly, hoping that Kyle would soften up. Was she trying to bring his defenses down? "Here, if you're so scared," she continued, "I'll open it for you."_

_And before Kyle could protest, she tore the package open. And in spite of the dangers, Kyle looked inside. _

_And what he saw…_

_It was…_

…_a bowl of chili._

_Nothing more, nothing less._

_But it was there, at the moment he saw the bowl, that Kyle Broflovski's weakened and tortured mind finally snapped._

_Dozens of thoughts rose up and shouted inside Kyle's head. All the fears and panics that he had screamed in agony. He had always managed to keep them under control, if just barely. But now, every time a rational thought came to stifle the chaos, ten fears brought it down, and it too was swallowed up by the panic._

_But in the mass confusion, one panic shouted louder than all the rest, brought to new life at the sight of the chili bowl. "My parents are dead!" it cried. There was no rational reason for a bowl of chili to produce that thought, but that didn't matter; Kyle had never been so sure of anything in his life. He _knew_ that his parents' remains were in that bowl of chili._

_Kyle looked at his mother. No, not his mother. His mother was dead; this was an illusion. The illusion asked him what was wrong. He ignored it. It was a trick. The illusion was here to destroy him! The outside had come!_

_Now the chaos in his mind ceased. It was replaced by a single directive: fight back. Destroy the illusion before it could destroy him. He seized the knife with renewed vigor._

"_You're not real," he proclaimed with remarkable calm. Then he stabbed the illusion._

_The illusion fought back, wailing and struggling against Kyle, clawing at him, and trying to escape. But Kyle was stronger; he wasn't going to let the outside get the better of him. He would break free of the illusions. He would fight to the bitter end._

_He plunged the knife into the illusion's chest again and again, until it stopped moving. The illusion of his father and brother rushed at him as well, but he destroyed them, too. No more tricks, no more illusions. The trap was broken; the trick was shattered. HE WAS FREE!_

* * *

><p>I walked through the double doors into the Tom Cruise Institute for the Mentally Ill. The receptionist looked up from her paperwork. "Oh, Mr. Cartman," she said. "What can I do for you?"<p>

"I want to see Kyle Broflovski," I told her. She was a really pretty girl. I think she was from my class. Heidi? Or maybe Annie? I could never tell those girls apart. I briefly wondered whether I was doing the wrong thing by eying the receptionist up, but I dismissed the notion; what Wendy didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Besides, it wasn't like I was actually cheating on her; I was simply appreciating nature's beauty.

"Right this way," the girl said, walking to one of the secure areas. "I should warn you, he is considered dangerous."

"Yes, so I heard," I said, shaking my head solemnly. "To suddenly come unglued and stab his whole family to death…tragic. He was my friend, though, and after that…I just wanted to talk to him."

"I understand," the girl said.

"He _is _restrained, right?" I asked. I didn't want to talk to him_ that_ much.

"Of course," she replied. She turned the lock on the thick door, opened it, and we walked in.

The entire room—or should I say, cell—was white and spotless. The walls were covered with pads as thick as mattresses. In short, it was everything you could expect from an asylum; cold, sterile, and nothing that could harm either the patient or the guest, no matter how ingenious they might be.

And speaking of patient…there was Kyle, sitting against the back wall. His green ushanka was gone, and his scraggly ginger hair stuck out in all directions. He was all wrapped up in a strait jacket, and was constantly twitching, just like Tweek used to do. He was muttering something under his breath:

"Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel…

I made you out of clay…

Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel…

With dreidel I will play…"

Then he started over again. So this is what Jews do after they completely lose it. Ha! That's why they're lame.

What were most indicative of Kyle's instability were his eyes. They looked like they were having trouble focusing on anything. It was like they were trying to look at me, but were actually seeing something that was far behind me, or perhaps something that didn't even exist at all.

"Could you leave us alone for a moment?" I asked the girl. After checking Kyle's restraints, she agreed and stepped outside, but she remained close to the door, just in case I needed her.

"Well, Kyle, we've finally seen the truth, haven't we?" I said, kneeling next to him. "Sometimes, it's better to just give up. But you couldn't do that, could you? And now look where it's got you."

Kyle went on with his song, having not comprehended a word I said.

"I heard that Stan drowned in a gutter yesterday," I said. "That's too bad; maybe if you had been there to help him, things might have turned out differently."

Kyle stopped singing, and stared at me. For a brief moment, he looked completely sane. Then he began pulling at his restraints, like he wanted nothing more than to beat me to a pulp.

"There, there, Kyle," I said, patting him on the back. He snapped his teeth at me viciously, and I pulled my hand away. "You really had no chance, Kyle. This was all destined to happen, you see? The world needed someone who would be the greatest leader of all time. Who would crush the scum of the earth beneath their feet. That someone is me, and that scum is you."

"But this is just the beginning. You and your friends were just the warm-up. I'm going to build a empire that will last for all time, and lead the whole world in a regime that will never be forgotten."

"I know that some of the things I've done were immoral. But don't you see? I had to do them! All because those greedy Jews wouldn't give me what was rightfully mine! So it's really their fault, you see. But don't worry; they'll pay for their crimes. You'll be the last Jew, Kyle: the last of the evil race that has held our world in darkness for so long."

Kyle sunk back into his mad stupor. I don't know if he actually understood anything that I had said, but I had fulfilled my duty to tell him. I moved toward the door, then turned back to him."

"Before I leave you, there's just one thing I have left to say." Pause.

"Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyaaaah nyaaaah! Ha ha ha ha haaa haaa!"

Then I left the asylum. The receptionist looked confused by my laughter.

* * *

><p>I herded the Jews into camps. I legalized marijuana and all those other drugs. I relocated everyone in South Park and made it into a test site for nuclear bombs. And I finally forced Israel to surrender.<p>

The Jews would never bother me again. I had given the rest of the public everything they could possibly want, so they had no reason to be upset.

And I had control over the whole. Fucking. World. The planet Earth was now known as the Empire of Cartman.

At last.

Having had a productive day, I went back to my palace. Wendy was surprised to see two girls at my side. When she asked who they were, I told them that I had passed a law legalizing polygamy, and that these women were two new wives.

She almost spoke up, but then stopped. After all, what did she have to complain about? I hadn't broken my promise to her. I hadn't replaced her with someone else. I simply could have more than one wife now.

As she walked away, I reminded her that it was her turn to make dinner. Then I kicked up my feet, and relaxed.

Everything was just as it should be.

* * *

><p>And that is how I came to be the supreme ruler of the world. I hope you all have picked up some pointers on how to achieve your dreams. Just remember to be careful; sometimes, the most dangerous people you meet are the people you least suspect. And the only way to ensure that you achieve greatness is to reach up and seize it. Those who stand around waiting for an opportunity get left in the dust; only those who make their own opportunities have a chance to succeed.<p>

To all of my admirers out there: obviously, you can't be Emperor of the World, since that's my job, and I will be around forever. But, I do want people to help me run this great empire of mine. After all, the world is a big place, and it's tough to look over every bit of the country at a time, even with my vast resources.

And if running the world isn't your dream, pursue whatever it is to the end, no matter who is in your way.

Don't forget to keep your friends (if you have any) close, and your enemies closer.

And if any of _those_ people get in your way, just remember what Hitler said:_ "Wir müssen die Ausrottung der Juden!"_

Sincerely,

Eric Theodore Cartman I

* * *

><p><strong>And now, a word about the inspiration for this story…<strong>

**Mrs. Cartman's fate is loosely inspired by the episode "**_**The Poor Kid **_**(getting framed with drug possession)**_**.**_**"**

**Stan's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**Raisons **_**(getting depressed after breaking up Wendy)." **

**Clyde's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**Bass to Mouth **_**(Cartman's special brownies)."**

**Timmy and Jimmy's fates are inspired by the episodes "**_**Tonsil Trouble **_**(deliberately giving someone an STD)" and "**_**The Ring**_** (getting syphilis from Tammy Warner)." **

**Token's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**The Jeffersons **_**(rich black people being framed by the police)."**

**Craig's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**Pandemic **_**(attack of the Guinea creatures)."**

**Ike's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**About Last Night… **_**(stealing the Hope Diamond)." Cartman later wrecking his mind is basically original. **

**Tweek's fate is inspired by his caffeine addiction. The actual method, I thought, is fairly original.**

**Kevin's fate is inspired by the movie/book "**_**A Clockwork Orange**_**."**

**Butters's fate is inspired by the episode "**_**Imaginationland **_**(being trapped in a fantasy world)."**

**Kenny's fate is inspired by Kenny's curse, and also partially by my other South Park fic, **_**My Name is Kenny**_**, in that his power is sacrificed for one of his friends (which he tries to do in ****that story****_)._ Here, however, it's against his will.**

**Kyle's fate is inspired by the episodes "**_**Scott Tenorman Must Die **_**(the chili)" and "**_**Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo **_**(Kyle singing in the asylum)."**

**Wendy's fate, while not taken from any one episode, is inspired by her visions of equality. To her, being just a housewife (and then only one of several) is as bad a punishment as anyone else gets.**

* * *

><p><strong>The End?<strong>


	16. Finale

**Sorry, I couldn't resist that Sherlock Holmes reference in the last chapter.**

**So Chapter 15 (as you can clearly see) was **_**not**_** necessarily the end. Consider this an optional epilogue. It can either end in Chapter 15 or here, depending on which ending you prefer.**

**Chapter 16: Finale**

* * *

><p>Well, now that I've finished writing my memoirs, I can get back to work.<p>

I've just sat down to look over the reports from the Jew camps when Wendy walks up to me. "Eric, we need to talk."

It's a Friday. Normally, I spend most of my time with Katrina on Fridays, but Wendy is my wife too, and my first one at that. I can afford to give her some of my time. "What's on your mind?" I ask. Usually, that's a dangerous question to ask a woman, but it is important that _all _of my important subjects be happy, and that includes my wives.

"Eric," she asks. "Do you love me?"

…What kind of a stupid question is that?

"Of course I love you, Wendy," I assure her. "What's all this about?"

She looks at her feet, and I hear her sniffling. Something is really wrong. Wendy almost never cries, and when she does, it's only because she's really, _really_ upset about something. Come to think about it, she's been very solemn and unenthusiastic during sex these past few weeks. So whatever this was, it's been going on for some time.

"There, there," I say. "You can tell me what's wrong. We're married after all."

"It's…about…Katrina and Penelope…" she finally chokes out.

Not this again. "Baby, we've been through this. Just because I have three wives doesn't mean I love you any less than I did before."

"I believe you, Eric," she says.

Naturally.

"Why shouldn't I? You never really loved me at all."

Of course. I—wait a minute, what did she just say?

"Oh, you desired me, _Cartman_," she says, "and you certainly talked a good show of how much you loved me. But you never really cared about me, or cared about how I felt."

How could that bitch say that? "That's not true! What about our romantic vacation? What about when I asked you to marry me?"

"Just a political move. Oh, it was a good one, and it's one I would have also made in your position. But it didn't mean anything to you beyond that. You would have married Sarah Jessica Parker if you thought it would give you more power."

There is no call for that.

"And it was just the same when you first asked me to join you in your quest to take over the world," she continues. "You were attracted to me, and you could use my leadership skills to aid you in your conquest. So you said you loved me, and you get both a business partner and something to have sex with all in one package."

I shudder. "How could you be so hurtful? Wendy, I would do any—"

"Oh, shut up!" she yells. She is not crying anymore, and her voice is cold and resolute. "Those reassuring words have manipulated me for long enough. You used me; that's it. You know what I am to you? A toy. That's why you got more wives; because no matter how pretty and fun a toy is, eventually, you get bored with it, and move on to something else. You don't love me anymore than you love them. If you really loved me, you wouldn't have _thought_ about more wives, let alone _married_ them! And now that you're even more powerful, you care about me even less; I'm just another one of those ants that you could crush beneath your feet, and the only reason I'm still here is that you don't want to throw away a toy you had so much fun with."

This—this is ridiculous. She doesn't know what she's talking about. I do love her…don't I?

"You know how else I know you don't love me?" she goes on. "You don't really know me. I don't think killing people is funny. I don't do terrible things to my closest friends, just because they don't agree with me."

"If you're referring to my friends in South Park," I growl, "they made their choice. They wanted me to fail. I said right from the start: 'whoever is not with us is against us.'"

Wendy shakes her head. "Only a paranoid person thinks the whole world is out to get them."

"It's not paranoid if they _are_ out to get you," I counter.

She glares at me. "They may not have wanted to rule the world with you, but that didn't mean they were your enemies. Maybe they just wanted to live normal lives. Maybe, if you had become king of the world, they would have shaken your hand, and said, 'Good job.' Now, they can't do that."

"You didn't know them like I did," I tell her. "They would have sold me out to the Jews in a heartbeat. Besides, if I'm guilty of hurting my 'friends' and thinking it's funny, then so are you. You laughed when Clyde blew up his crap bag." Hehe, still hilarious.

"That _was_ funny, Cartman," Wendy says, "but what happened afterwords was not. I mean, he tried to kill himself! I just wanted Bebe to break with him. And Stan, too! He may have been a sorry excuse for a boyfriend, but that doesn't mean I wanted him dead! I mean, he was your friend, and now he's dead, for Christ's sake! Do you not think that you might have gone a little too far?"

"Why should I think that?" I ask.

Wendy looks right into my eyes, and I start to actually get scared. "I admit it, Cartman; I love being in charge. I like bossing people around, and maybe even embarrassing them a little. I actually get a high off of it. But I always keep myself in check, because when someone becomes so drunk on power that they would ruin their friends' lives or kill them, just because it's funny, then that person is _evil!_"

Evil?

"For a long time, I've been blinded by all the power," Wendy continues. "But now that you've just tossed me aside, I can finally see the truth: you don't care about anything or anyone, not even me. And you never did."

EVIL?

"You think…I'm evil?" I ask, in shock. "Even after all I've done? For this world? For _you?_"

Wendy crosses her arms. "_Especially_ after all that."

How dare she? How can she be so ungrateful? I guess I really have been blinded by love after all.

"Well, fine, BITCH! I don't need you! I've got all the money, and women, and power I need! I can't believe I ever thought I could count on YOU! _Well, that's fine; I'll just rule the world BY MYSELF!_"

Wow…did I really say that? As angry as I am, that seemed a little bit harsher than I meant it to. I would have to get rid of her; clearly her feminine wiles are messing with my head more than I realized. I need to clear my thoughts.

"Butters," I think, "I need you to perform the usual on Wendy. She's gotten a little too independent, lately." That should work. This way, she won't be so meddlesome, but I can still keep her for sex; she is great at that.

Silence. Instead of Butters's chipper, "Yes, sir!" there is only goddamn silence.

"Butters?" I think again. Then I casually glance at Wendy, and notice that her cold look of hatred has curled up into a wicked smile. Oh, SHIT! What has she done?

"Having trouble with your agent?" Wendy sneers.

Wendy has neutralized Butters? How could this have happened?

The bitch continues, "You see, when you scare the shit out of people and threaten them, they typically think of you as a bully. Butters is a good boy; he knows that when he's having trouble with a bully, he should talk to a responsible adult." She grins. "I'm flattered that he thought I qualified."

Butters, you black asshole! You've ruined everything!

I try to reach out to Butters with my mind to stop him, but I can't find him. Somehow, he's figured out a way to hide from me. He could be anywhere, doing anything, and I can't stop him.

Wendy laughs. "You should know, Cartman, that if there was a way for Butters to enter into people's minds without them knowing, he could do the same to you." She pauses, and I realize that Butters is talking to her. "Butters say your mind smells, by the way."

He's already in my mind? God damn it!

"He also say it's really messed up," Wendy adds. "Butters, I think it's time."

Before I can think of any mental defenses to put up, Butters does it.

_What _exactly he's just done, is a little hard for me to describe.

He…_unlocked_ my brain.

In one moment of clarity, I could see myself for who I really was. I _had_ taken over the world because I was drunk on power, not for any "greater good." I _had_ ruined the lives of all my friends just because I thought it would be funny, and not for any real preventative or constructive reason. I _did_ kill and humiliate people _just_ because I loved to hear them scream.

There are two sides in my head. One side is who I thought I was, and the other is who I actually was. I have the rare opportunity to see them both, side by side. You already know what I think of myself; I've spent my whole biography telling you that. I am a powerful leader, put in place by destiny, and guided by absolute principles of justice. I am the ruler this world needed.

But then I see the other side, and words come to mind I would never have attributed to myself. Bloodthirsty…tyrannical…sadistic…evil…it's almost too much to bear. Sure, I had done some things I wasn't proud of, but to see all this…to see yourself, without any illusions...can be really cruel.

I didn't love Wendy. At all. I really thought I had, and I suppose I wish I did. But I feel nothing for her, and I never did, and my lies of love and tenderness had been so convincing that I had believed them myself.

Also, I didn't care about Kenny, either. I had called him my best friend, but now I can see how empty those words really are. Kenny, Stan, Jimmy, Butters, and even Kyle...

…and those people…my friends…they had never really been that bad. In fact, the only undeserved cruelty they had visited on me was calling me fat. And what have I done to them?

One is in jail. Who knew how much he had suffered in there, but at least he can be released now…

Three were attacked in body: two with syphilis, and one in a coma. Someday, they might recover, but it will take time…

Four were attacked in mind; one through humiliation, two through torture and traumatization, and one through a long, slow push towards insanity. Therapy can reverse some of the damage to most of them, but Kyle is probably beyond anyone's power to help…

And four…four of the people I had grown up with, laughed with, and actually had good times with…are dead. Dead. Because of me…

Oh, and while I'm looking at myself without any illusions...I _am_ fat._ Very_ fat.

I am in the unique position of being able to accurately judge myself. And I am guilty. On all charges. I would deserve whatever happened to me, now.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Wendy sneers, still watching. "You should have known; never EVER fuck with Wendy Testaburger."

I also hurt the girl I had believed I had loved. Chalk that one up, too.

Wendy grabs an iron candlestick off of the fireplace, and raises it above her head. "I can't believe I married you. I can't believe I _slept_ with you. I can't believe _I let you touch me."_

So while I am judge and jury, Wendy would be executioner. I do nothing to stop her. I simply wait.

My wife brings the candlestick down, and I see nothing else.

* * *

><p>I awake to see myself in Limbo a second time.<p>

The two sides of my mind continue to rage at each other, until a lone voice rises up and says, "Stop. You can't afford to fight yourself. You're dead now because you were too self-conflicted to defend yourself. You have to get a grip!"

The voice is right, so I decide that I have finally had enough. I reach out to both sides. _I_ am in control here, and I will be damned (ironic choice of words) before I will be a slave to my own mind. I'm not going to let something like guilt or morals _stop me from doing what I want_!

Immediately, both sides quiet down. The self-image side, the illusion, goes away. I still know who I am, but I suppose I can live with it. Since I am a heartless bastard who has no feelings for anyone other than me, I have no reason to help anyone else ever again, and I can be the heartless bastard that I always was, without any pesky interference.

I am back.

And by the way, the joke's on you, Wendy. I'm still immortal, so I'll just come back to life soon, and then you'll be sorry you killed me, you self-righteous bitch. You just thought I was a complete monster before; wait until you see me now. I'll kill you, and I'll kill Butters, and then I'll get back to ruling the world, without pretense, the way I always wanted to, forever.

And Jews, I won't stop until I've destroyed every last one of you.

I have just reached this resolution when Damien appears. "I'm ready to get back to earth, at your earliest convenience," I tell him.

"Well, about that…" Damien begins. "It turns out that after you left here the last time, someone came to me in a vision, and offered me some helpful advice. He observed that you were being a bit of a bully to me, and he said that the best way to deal with bullies was to talk to a responsible adult."

Butters…you. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

"So, I went to my dad, and told him everything," Damien says. "He was mad at first, but he still cares about me, so he thanked me for being so honest with him, and didn't even punish me. He did say I couldn't keep immortal humans anymore, though, so I took away your powers."

I shudder. "You mean…I'm not immortal anymore."

He smiles. "That's right. So now that the supreme ruler of Earth isn't immortal, my dad and I are all ready to take over when Wendy dies. So much for your carefully laid plans."

Well, way to go, Butters: you've just doomed the world to be taken over by the devil. As bad as I might have been, I wouldn't have been as bad as—

—no, wait, I would have been worse.

Screw you anyway, Butters.

"And now, it's time to begin your sentence in Hell," Damien says, opening the gate of fire. "I must say, Cartman, we've been waiting for you for quite some time. I think you've exceeded everyone's expectations on just how bad a person can be. Your tormentors even requested you personally."

My tormentors? I look and see two men walk through the gateway towards me. I recognize them, but they look very different, like Hell has treated them badly. Still, I suspect it will be much, _much_ worse for me.

"Apparently, they thought that no one else had the experience to give you what you really deserved," Damien says with a grin.

"Something like that," Stan answers him. "We, on the other hand, learned all about creative torture from an expert."

Kenny says nothing, but he smiles and cracks his knuckles.

* * *

><p><strong>And <strong>_**that**_** is the end of my second South Park character story. I hope you all enjoyed it.**

**As I said on my profile, there will be a third character story, which will star Butters as he goes on the great adventure/trial of his life. But that's for another day.**


End file.
